


Coloring Outside The Lines

by HerSweetMockingMouth



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Angst, But seriously I am weak for their little found family, Christen moms the heck out of Mal and warms all our hearts, Coming Out, Does that make Tobin daddy?, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mal is our team baby and we love her, Mutual Masturbation, Non-graphic mentions of past sexual assault, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 148,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24829294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerSweetMockingMouth/pseuds/HerSweetMockingMouth
Summary: Looking back, Tobin admitted to herself, the signs were there. Maybe if she’d looked a little closer — just thought about those things that had perplexed her, rather than moved on. Had she been a bad friend? A bad teammate?The more she thought about it the more those three things wove together like a braid, leaving an obvious conclusion it had taken Tobin far too long to notice.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Mallory Pugh, Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 902
Kudos: 904





	1. Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Think there’s any chance I can convince you to forget about this? Or lie for me?"
> 
> Tobin shifted awkwardly.
> 
> Christen sighed. "Yeah. I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's begin a journey! This story will track with Tobin, Christen, and Rookie Mal through the entire USWNT calendar of 2016. For T&C it will involve a lot of awkward moments, longing glances, lingering fingers, and healing from the wounds of the world. For Mal, it’ll be about learning the definition of family! 
> 
> I'll post any triggers needed in chapters as we go and, if it gives you strength to ride it out, know that there are only happy endings here. 
> 
> (Addendum: for you cheaters who are only in it for the smut, chapters 5, 6, 7, 11 and 12 are where it is so far)

Looking back, Tobin admitted to herself, the signs were there. Maybe if she’d looked a little closer — just thought about those things that had perplexed her, rather than moved on.

Had she been a bad friend? A bad teammate?

The more she thought about it, the more those three things wove together like a braid, leaving an obvious conclusion it had taken Tobin far too long to notice.

* * *

**Sign One:**

**1/23/16  
 **San Diego, California  
 **Friendly: USA v Ireland (5-0)  
 **Goals: Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd, Morgan, Pugh********

Tobin’s feet were doing their very best to perform what was probably a simple pattern. It may as well have been calculus.

"Seriously, Tobin, how did you never learn the Wobble?! We were in college when this came out!"

Tobin laughed as Allie held their wrists above her head, pressing up against her back in an attempt to prove that you could roll your hands and your hips at the same time _("Really, Tobin, what the hell!")._ Tobin just punched her hips forward, spinning so she could break away from the blonde’s aggressive choreography attempts.

"What?! 2008 was an Olympic year! I wasn’t really on the frat floor, Harry."

"Were you on planet Earth? Because I’m pretty sure you couldn’t escape it otherwise."

Tobin retreated toward her locker backwards, hands up to ward off all further attempts at coaching. "You can teach me later," she chuckled as Ashlyn slid up behind the center mid with an exaggerated and filthy grind, hoots echoing from around the locker room. "Get it, Harris!"

A locker slammed, and Ali rolled her eyes with a grin. "Save it for the bedroom, baby, I don’t think Allie wants that."

Her protest probably would have been more successful if the woman in question hadn’t just dropped her hands to the floor, hips rocking in something reminiscent of an off-kilter laundry machine. Catcalls erupted as Crystal marched over. "Back up, bitches, this is how you twerk" and proceeded to demonstrate exactly why she was considered the dancer of the team.

Tobin rocked sideways with a sudden _oof_ at the tackle of a tall and pony-tailed figure squeezing its arms around her naked midsection.

" _THANK YOU_. She had me earlier and I didn’t know how to escape her clutches." Alex mock shivered, gesturing at the trio now grinding to the pumping bass of Kelley’s iPhone speakers. Scattered fingers were pointing at the spectacle from all around the room as women shouted _more! more!_ , little Mallory bent over in stitches by her bag.

She slipped out of the forward’s arms and pulled a jersey over her sports bra. "I wish I could say I’d volunteered to save you, Baby Horse, but I’m pretty sure I was just another victim."

The brunette fell to the bench, pulling on her cleats. Tobin scuffed her own against the floor.

A huff pulled her gaze down right as a finger poked in accusation at her knee.

"There are bruises all over your shins, Tobin. I swear, if you don’t actually pull up your shinguards and socks I might kick you myself."

Like coke from a vending machine, a whine dispensed automatically - just as Alex knew it would.

"Alex, you know I don’t like it. They’re uncomfortable!"

"Don’t do it and I’ll _give_ you something to be uncomfortable about." ( _"Won’t even take care of yourself, God damn.")_

Tobin tugged Alex's ponytail in retaliation, but she didn't mind too much. This was a bit long played out between the pair, and it was almost comfortable in its familiarity.

With an equally scripted sigh, she bent at the waist to grab the offending items slouched at her ankles, adjusted the shinguards, and finally rolled her socks up to her knees in theatrical slowness.

"Happy?"

Alex just flashed her teeth wolfishly, hopping up to shake Tobin’s shoulders in a sudden and contagious rush. "OOSA." 

"LET’S WIN." Nearby, Megan started jumping high-knees. "Ok ladies, time to kick some ass!"

Music turning off and locker doors ringing shut, women strapped on their shinguards, slid on their pre-wrap, and slapped each other’s backs as they jogged toward the door. Tobin caught a glance of Christen right as her own feet turned to leave. The woman was dazed out, eyes hovering somewhere around Tobin’s knees. "Chris?"

The dark head popped up, french braids brushing against her shoulders.

"You ready to go?" Tobin shrugged her shoulder at the door.

The answering smile was like a light sparking in a dark room and Tobin’s cheeks flushed. _Her eyes squint when she smiles._ "Well come on then, Press! Let’s go win!"

With a conclusive nod, the two were on their feet and out the door.

About 90 minutes later, they were certainly winning but Christen wasn’t smiling, and Tobin felt her own thrill of the lead slip away into a concerned haze.

Christen had hit the turf and it looked like a bad one. Ireland’s defender had come in from the edge of the box for a slide tackle at the same time that their midfielder who’d been chasing Press — rather unsuccessfully since the forward’s stunning breakaway — finally got within two feet of her opponent. Tobin watched as cleats, instead of making contact with the ball, hit Christen’s right ankle. Body too stuck in momentum, the striker had tried to twist to land on her back, but sort of flopped on her side, head bouncing sharply off the field with a sickening _thwap_. Right as she hit the ground, the approaching midfielder found that she couldn’t avoid the two bodies suddenly at her feet. Her attempted dodge failed, all her weight slamming through her cleat right where the U.S. player’s upper thigh met her pelvis. Falling, the midfielder’s knee then caught Press in the chin.

Tobin could barely process — it had all happened so fast — but as the ball rolled into the box and slowed without anyone retrieving it, she realized the whistle must have been blown. Every eye was fixed on the commotion of three players tangled up in a heap.The Irish teammates were slowly pulling their limbs off of whatever skin or turf surface they’d landed on, but Chris was just collapsed there and Tobin felt a twist in her stomach.

There was already a medic running for the site and players hovered in place except for Ireland’s keeper who had finally gone to pick up the ball and toss it to the sidelines.

Tobin couldn’t tell if she wanted Christen to make a noise or not.

They’d rolled her on her back now, and it looked like maybe her teeth had busted through her lower lip because blood was rolling down her chin and jawline as the braided woman clutched the inside of her hip, face contorted in a grim and twisted mask.The knot in her stomach seized sharply again and Tobin found herself taking a step closer.

A stretcher appeared and as the forward was loaded up and carried off the field, time sped up again and Tobin realized she hadn’t been breathing. She checked the scoreboard; 3 minutes left in the game and then stoppage.

6 minutes of play passed without really thinking about it; their 5-0 lead would hold just fine, and when the buzzer sounded, Tobin found herself walking towards the field exit rather than the bench or even the many fans starting to push towards the front of the stadium for autographs. She wasn’t the only one. At least three of her teammates were headed through the tunnel as well. But as they turned the corner towards the locker rooms and medic station, they found the rolling stretcher stopped preemptively in the hallway, several people gathered around it as —

Christen was screaming. And Tobin gulped as it took a moment to realize it didn’t even sound like pain, it sounded like—

Panic.

"Don’t touch me! Don’t — STOP. Don’t —"

The frantic woman was batting hands away as two medics and their assistant coach tried to keep her still and take stock of the situation. Blood was streaming down her chin, soaking into the collar of her jersey, and her braids were starting to come loose in the commotion, frizzed locks bursting wildly around her cheeks. But that noise and —

"STOP" — God her voice sounded like shredded fabric, or broken glass, or something terrible Tobin hadn’t had to experience before, and she’d never seen Chris like this; never even imagined the possibility of seeing any of her teammates, any _human_ , in this state. There were tears streaming down Chris’s face too, mixing with the blood to create odd pink tracks, and somebody was trying to hold her legs down, Swanson behind the stretcher looking shocked and confused, and—

"Get Mallory out of here." It was Becky. Tobin couldn’t understand what she was saying.

"Get Mal, Tobin!" Tobin spun to see the 17 year old frozen with her mouth open and eyes starting to water, watching the writhing woman as Tobin turned back to Becky and —

"GO."

Tobin grabbed the girl’s arm and started to pull her backwards, noticing Alex take a stuttering step back too as Becky walked right into the madness like an avenging angel or something to wrap her arms around Christen’s shoulders. "Everybody just step the fuck back!"

The medics withdrew a little, and then Christen was sobbing blood and tears into the defender’s sweaty jersey as Tobin successfully dragged little Mal back behind the corner of the tunnel. Alex already had her arms stretched wide to stop other teammates — confused by the sound of uninhibited weeping up ahead — from coming closer to investigate. 

Tobin wrapped her arms around the trembling body of the girl who should be celebrating her goal in her first ever international cap but instead had her head tucked under Tobin’s chin, fists clutching the back of her jersey. Tobin’s head buzzed.

What the FUCK just happened?

* * *

**Sign 2:**

**1/06/16  
 **Carson, California  
 **2** ** nd ** **day of USWNT Training Camp for CONCACAF Olympic Qualifying Tournament******

It was supposed to be an orderly, attentive room of soccer players watching game tape in preparation for the Olympics that summer.

Instead, it looked far more like a high school classroom when the teacher was called away for the last 20 minutes of class and told you to 'behave.'

Yeah, about as successful as you would imagine.

Jill had stepped out in frustration, seeking an A/V tech to help figure out why the screen setup wasn’t playing.

30 seconds later, the room was a zoo.

While the room itself had four neat rows of chairs with a center aisle, women were scattered everywhere. Many sprawled across multiple seats; Lindsey and Mal learning some new line dance up front from Kelley; Ali and Ashlyn huddled over a phone watching vines; and Tobin was laying down alone in the third left row trying to catch a moment of hard chill. Not so easy when people were shouting at each other in large voices that echoed off the conference room walls.

"So, I’m sitting there, barbecue sauce on my titties…"

Carli spun around from her conversation with Hope. "Excuse me?!"

Kelley grinned wolfishly. "What, you’ve never gotten a little adventurous in the bedroom, Carls?"

"BARBEQUE SAUCE?!"

Kelley cackled as Alyssa looked up from her crossword to fittingly save the moment. "It’s just a vine, Carli. She’s quoting a video."

"Who’s to say life doesn’t reflect art?"

Becky huffed, not even looking up from her book. "It’s the other way around, Kelley. Art imitates LIFE."

"Well, these tits are a work of art," muttered the freckled player.

"We’ve done maple syrup before…" piped up Sam from the back of the room.

"Is it because you’re as tall as a tree?"

"KELLEY" erupted from a scandalized Carli, but Sam was laughing.

Kelley just looked down at her hands wide-eyed, alternating in lifting them like imaginary scales. "The art…. the life… the art… the life."

Megan just looked like she was trying to work out a math problem in her head. "…Was it good?"

"1 out of 10 — wouldn’t recommend. Way too sticky. Sheets had to go through the laundry twice before it came off. Though Pat did have to work pretty hard to get it off of _me_ so that was nice…"

Megan snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind."

Tobin could hear a giggle, then a whisper from in front of her. "Kelley had a guy put chocolate syrup on her in college once. Came back with it still all over her neck — hadn’t even realized." Morgan chuckle-wheezed from beside her. "Oh geeze, that sounds like something O’Hara would do."

"She was 100% wild."

"Well, what about you? Any food stuffs in the bedroom recently?"

"NO. No, god no." The woman laughed lightly, hand running through the damp mane of her hair, curls wild from a recent shower. "I haven’t even been kissed in … god, it’s been years n—"

But she must have said it just a bit too loudly because —

"Did I just hear you say you haven’t been kissed in _years_? Holy shit, Press!" Megan spun from the seat in front of them and Christen’s face went from a pleasant tawny rose to ashen in a second. Too many heads had turned over at the loud outburst; "what?!" echoing from around the room as over half the team tuned in. Christen brought her hands to her cheeks and Tobin’s body compacted viscerally in sympathy.

"We’ve got to get you laid, like, NOW," Megan continued. "What’s your type? Tall, dark, and handsome? Athlete? Professional? I’m sure we’ve got someone we can introduce you to."

Christen just shook her head, wide-eyed.

"Not your type? Are we talking more the fairer sex then? Because I _certainly_ have some numbers for you if so. You would kill it in the sapphic scene, my friend."

"Yeah, Christen, I’ve never even heard you mention a date now that I think about it," mused Alex in the front right corner, now kneeling in her chair to look back at the developing scene.

"No, no I’m not… I just … I’m not looking for anything right now," Christen tried in a poor attempt at casual.

"Or ever it sounds like," Megan laughed. "You know you can tell us if you’re ace. At least then the entire world can be united in its mourning, rather than just the half with estrogen."

"Ace? I … I don’t really hold with labels, let’s say."

Tobin glanced around, waiting for anyone to shut down this conversation.

"Or orgasms it seems." Most of the room chuckled at Alex’s statement, Tobin cringing at the way Christen’s knuckles were going white on the back of her chair.

Megan spun towards the teasing forward, eyes agleam; "Last time you got off, Baby Horse?"

"Three days ago," Alex smirked, flipping her ponytail behind her shoulder. "Which was also the second to last time I got off. And the third. …AND the fourth."

Crystal was grinning widely from beside Alex, face a scandalized mask as she used her hands to fan herself.

A hoot came from somewhere around Sam and Julie.

Becky turned another page in her book.

"Geeze, did you leave any time to return the favor or should we be calling you Pillow Horse from now on?" Kelley offered with a snicker. Tobin had now flipped her hood up, hoping to disappear from any parties who could attempt to engage her.

"I’ll have you know, I —"

"Attention ladies, A/V is finally here with the setup," Jill sighed as she walked in the door at the front of the room. "We’ll be watching reel from our last game against Costa Rica."

Tobin released a grateful exhale, just before "— you know, it really is ok if you’re asexual. You know we wouldn’t judge," Morgan whispered once more to Christen. Tobin found herself leaning slightly forward, trying to catch the answer Christen was whispering back but the tape had started and swallowed the reply as quickly as a stone in a river.

Tobin chided herself for wanting in on the gossip anyway, squashing the remnant of curiosity still churning in her gut.

* * *

**Sign Three:**

**1/20/16  
 **Carson, California  
 **Last day of USWNT Training Camp for CONCACAF Olympic Qualifying Tournament******

"Awwww, she’s so cute" Alex Morgan cooed over the sleeping girl with her head nestled in Christen’s lap.

Kelley cackled on the far side of the hotel room — "little newby can’t handle camp. Tuckered her right out."

"Hush," Christen laughed, tucking Mal’s hair behind an ear so it wouldn’t brush her face as she breathed. "She didn’t seem too tuckered out to meg you 1v1 did she?"

Tobin and Allie jostled Kelley from either side in glee. "Ohhhhhh, she got you, did she, Kell? We’ve got a little mini-me coming up!"

Kelley dodged from under Tobin’s fist knuckling her in the head and scowled primly. "Whatever. You’re not the queen of megs, Tobito. More like the court jester." The two began roughhousing on the hotel bed. Allie jumped up chanting "fight fight fight!" and Becky rolled her eyes from the floor.

Christen just smiled softly and pet little Mal’s head again. Seriously, the girl was so cute. She knew that Mallory had come up through the U17 and U20 teams just fine, but her first USWNT camp call up was a big deal and the girl had been stressing about her first upcoming cap versus Ireland. She’d gone hard in training for days now, and apparently the final hangout of camp was losing spectacularly to the siren call of sleep. And for some reason, since the beginning, the little one had latched onto Christen instantly, like a duckling or something equally fluffy and cute. The others teased her, but Christen kind of loved it.

"I’m bored. Let’s do something," Rapinoe drawled, just on the other side of a still-cooing Alex, Christen slapping at her finger when it scooched too close to the girl’s face.

Kelley’s head popped up from the bed, Tobin’s elbow still clamped around her neck, mid-wrestle — "OOOh, what?"

A sleep-addled-but-not-yet-succumbed Lindsey perked up from Christen’s other side. "A drinking game?!"

Megan’s head knocked back against the wall. "Of course the 21 year old would say that."

Alex elbow introduced itself swiftly into the woman’s side ( _"FUCK, Morgan")_ , and she smiled at the dimming blonde. "It’s a good idea, Horan."

A freckled figure rolled off of the bed against the wall, nearly pulling Tobin with her, leaving the midfielder clinging onto the dragging comforter with a squeak. "Kelley!"

Christen couldn’t help but giggle at Tobin’s predicament — the midfielder flushing under the scrutiny. Tobin had just broken eye contact when Kelley popped up again with a plastic sleeve of solo cups and a bottle of vodka. "GOT IT."

"DUDE, have you been holding onto that all week?" Tobin’s jaw dropped.

"Yup, knew it would come in handy at some point."

Becky slumped into Morgan Brian beside her on the floor — "think it’s any use reminding them that Jill will kill us if we drink before the tournament?"

Moe just snickered and pat her leg sweetly. "Wahoowah, Cap — work hard, play hard, right?"

The defender groaned again but everyone could see she wasn’t really going to stop anything and a jittery little current ran through the girls. They shuffled into a semi-passable circle as Kelley passed cups down the line.

"Ok," Lindsey said, "truth or dare?"

"NO," Alex shouted, as Christen hushed her with a hand over Mal’s ear.

Alex continued at a cowed level, hissing just above a whisper. "Kelley made me run naked down the hallway last time, and I am not reliving that experience."

Kelley cackled again; Tobin flushed. She’d just been coming out, hair still wet from a shower, to join the other girls and had received an armful of running Alex for her lateness. She hadn’t fully liked the way her body had shivered at the sensation of her hands on naked hips…

"Yeah, I agree, no truth or dare,” Tobin said.

Alex winked at her.   


The debating neared its end.

"Never have I ever," from Allie.

"You always lose at that," the still-sulking Becky frowned.

"Exactly."

Kelley offered Allie her hand for a resounding high-five as the room laughed.

"Ok, ok, come on then," Megan said, and they settled.

"Lindsey, you start," prompted Alex. The blonde in question straightened imperceptibly.

"Great. Ok … never have I ever … run naked down a hallway" she threw with a teasing glance at the girl who’d just spoken. Alex rolled her eyes with a laugh, taking a sip from her cup with a wince.

Nearby, Allie also sipped from her cup and a shocked little gasp escaped the twice-successful 21-year-old.

"Really?!"

A wink. "Kelley had to get the idea somewhere right? Alex isn’t the first person to ever get that dare."

Tobin shivered imperceptibly nearby.

"I told you I was good at this game," Allie smirked.

They went in a circle from there.

"Never have I ever gone to Stanford."

Kelley and Christen saluted one another and drank.

"Never have I ever been nutmegged by Tobin."

Everyone drank with groans except a proud Morgan Brian.

"Never have I ever cheated on my training diet."

Cheers erupted when Becky reluctantly took a sip with them.

"Never have I ever peed myself in a kit."

Alex gasped at a sniggering Kelley - "I told you that in confidence O’Hara! The ball hit me right in the bladder after hours of training without a break - it just happened!" as everyone howled, Mal sleeping contentedly through it.

The game shifted, as these things will. 

"Never have I ever joined the mile high club."

Allie was the only one to drink, heavy lashes fluttering as she tried to avoid eye contact at the cheers, finally blushing.

"Never have I ever gone down on a girl."

Rapinoe, Kelley, and a blushing Horan sipped.

"Never have I ever had sex in public," came surprisingly from Becky, finally getting into it. Kling drank as Tobin jumped ( _"dude, have you been here the whole time?"_ ).

“Never have I ever kissed a man."

Rapinoe pounded the floor in glee as she forced the entire circle to drink with her play.

"Alright make this next one good, because this bottle is almost empty and I planned on being tipsy before that happened," Alex teased.

"Well, maybe you should have been a little more sexually adventurous, Baby Horse! But to save this horse who rode a cowboy" Kling mocked, "…never have I ever been married."

Allie held up her hand with the engagement ring and whooped; "not til October, baby! Drink up, Janice!"

Downing the dregs of her cup with a smirk, Alex slammed it on the floor in a flourish. She was just reaching for the bottle to refill when a stuttering Lindsey piped up, staring at the woman beside her — "Christen, did you just drink?!"

Christen, already rosy-cheeked at the alcohol, flushed further as Allie broke in with a shock.

"How have I never heard of this? Who is he? How long have you been together? Where is your ring?!"

"Ace, my ass!" shouted Rapinoe, a few sips too far to regulate volume.

Kelley shifted uncomfortably across the room.

Christen looked down at her lap, touching Mal’s still-sleeping head gently.

Tobin’s eyes were locked on Christen’s downturned face, heart inexplicably pounding as those normally grinning lips grew teeth-ravaged in the heavy pause.

Finally, they were released.

"The question was just if we’ve been married. Not if we currently are."

A long silence hung in the air …

Megan swallowed. "Well, shit."

* * *

**2/5/16  
 **Portland, OR****

The weird thing about being on the USWNT is that they almost all played in the League as well so they were really only together for camps, tournaments, and friendlies. The in-between was spent in cities stretched across the U.S. — or globe even — with different teammates and different teams.

Tobin didn’t see Christen for two weeks after Ireland.

She didn’t text either. They were friends, sure, but … honestly, Tobin just didn’t know what to do with her last sighting of Christen. Her fingers would work out something on the screen, then just hover over the send button until slowly deleting every letter.

"How are you?" felt overt.

"What happened?" felt intrusive.

"Look at the smoothie I just got!" felt avoidant.

"You totally freaked me out," felt too honest.

So, she didn’t text. 

Besides, everyone was busy trying to psych up for CONCACAF whether that meant time at home with loved ones, extra training, or, for some, League games they felt required to participate in. Christen was probably busy doing her own thing in Chicago with the Red Stars or maybe with her parents in California somewhere.

So, yeah, she didn’t need Tobin bothering her, right?

Tobin let her phone fall unused to her side — but never too far away. No one wanted to be too far from their phones when the call for the CONCACAF roster would be released any day now. Tobin knew she’d likely be called up — there was no reason not to be when she’d been on the team for years at this point. But there was always that little pit of anxiety sneaking in to whisper that they’d choose someone else this time; that she didn’t deserve to be there. But Tobin had learned how to quiet herself and, with that, the little voice.

So, she expected the phone call from U.S. Soccer.

What she didn’t expect was them asking her to come a day early.

> _"The extra day in the hotel is covered, and all your meals of course."_
> 
> _"Ok… is there any particular reason?"_
> 
> _"They’ll explain when you get here."_
> 
> _"Have I done some-"_
> 
> _"No, no, nothing like that. It’s — just, a special ask for something. You can always decline once you’ve heard. Nothing bad."_
> 
> _"Ok, well, thanks for the call. I’m excited for the tournament."_
> 
> _"And we’re excited to see you play as always, Ms. Heath!"_
> 
> _"Thanks. …Bye."_

The call disconnected.

Tobin pulled out her laptop and began arranging tickets.

* * *

**2/7/16  
 **Frisco, Texas** **

  
When Tobin arrived at the hotel in Frisco, Coach Ellis was waiting in the lobby. 

"Hi Tobin, thanks for coming early."

"Yeah, no problem."

"Great, well, honestly I want to jump right in. You can leave your bags with the porter; your room will depend on — well, come with me."

Tobin found herself a step behind the quick-footed woman, eyes searching everywhere for some hint of what this could be about — news crew, special trainer, sponsor label. But the hallways were empty and looked the same as any other hotel in America.

As they turned the corner, a conference room appeared up ahead. Jill walked right up to it, opened the door, and ushered Tobin inside.

The confusion grew.

It looked like they had asked Christen to come early too. And Press did _not_ look happy — she was slumped down in her chair, arms crossed and tense across her body, a tie-dye hoodie large and pooling over her limbs like a blanket. Tobin felt her gut twist, knowing she hadn’t reached out to the forward since the Ireland friendly. And why did she look so put out? It was growing more and more clear that this wasn’t about a press conference or ad deal.

Several chairs were pre-arranged in a loose circle, Christen slumped in the one facing the door, one of the team physical therapists two chairs to her left, and then a white man Tobin didn’t recognize on Christen’s right. Jill came from behind her, taking a seat next to the man, and looked to Tobin.

"Grab a seat."

She looked at the circle and evaluated. Her safest bet was probably the seat across from Christen, one away from both Jill and the trainer. Better than right beside Christen anyway. This felt so strange.

Tobin sat, insecurity rendering every movement awkward, and leaned forward on her knees, waiting for someone to explain what on earth was going on.

Everybody looked at Christen and her brow furrowed, almost sulking. The unknown man waited a second more and then coughed.

"Well, I’ll begin. Ms. Heath, thank you for joining us early and it’s nice to meet you in person. I’ve been looking forward to it since Christen named you as who she wanted to join us today."

Wait, so _Christen_ was the reason she was in this tense little circle?! That would make a lot more sense if the woman wasn’t studiously avoiding eye contact.

"Christen, would you like to explain to Tobin why she’s here?"

The black woman tugged lightly on a braid...

The midfielder held her breath...

And then the forward shook her head.   


_ Jesus Christ. This is so weird.  _

"Ok. Well, Tobin — may I call you Tobin?"

She nodded.

"Christen has been going through a combination of a health issue as well as stress that have created the need for her to have a roommate assist her with some rehab. Nothing physical, but rather, as a sort of accountability."

Tobin nodded far more out of instinct than actual understanding.

"Mr. Lincoln here is assisting her in her injury recovery from a groin strain in your last friendly but she is already able to practice and should be ready by game time. He’s more just helping her to stay healthy at this point.”

The casual stance of his body looked wildly self-assured but the flex of his jaw read tentative in the pause — like he was searching for words. It made Tobin itch.

”However, there are certain… _exercises_ Christen must do on her own and as she has been … neglectful in the past to fulfilling them, Jill has given her the option of either stepping off the team or allowing someone to come alongside her and verify, so to speak, with the coaching staff that she is indeed doing her rehab. Do you understand?"

"Um… yeah I guess." Tobin’s forehead creased into hills and valleys. Why would Christen ever not do her rehab? And why was Tobin the one who was here? This was so far beyond any reason Tobin thought she might have been called early.

Jill spoke up now: "Obviously, Christen is a vital member of this team and we’re happy to have her on board. But to make sure that she is able to receive aid whenever she needs it, she needs to be fulfilling Dr. Heart’s … prescription."

Christen rolled her eyes at this, hard, and Jill flushed.

_What am I not getting?_

“Ok, so how can I help?"

Dr. — Heart, she supposed? — looked at Christen one more time as if waiting for her to speak up. When she didn’t he returned his gaze across the circle again.

"Well, Tobin. The difficulty we are facing is that Ms. Press has an extreme aversion to anyone touching her in her pelvic region. Because of this, she has been unable to handle physical therapy efforts from your trainer over here — as I heard you may have observed at your last game, actually. While that incident specifically was exacerbated by a minor head injury, this is also part of a larger ongoing issue.”

His jaw would probably be aching by the end of this.

“To put it plainly, Christen needs to grow more comfortable in people touching her hip to groin area. But for that to happen, a first and necessary hindrance to overcome is actually growing comfortable in touching _herself_.”

_Wait, wait — excuse me, WHAT??_

He rolled on without a pause and Tobin scrambled to get her ears working again over the sudden static of her synapses.

“Because of this, and some other factors in relation to it, Christen has supposed to have been masturbating regularly as part of her mental health regimen with U.S. Soccer."

Amber-brown eyes flew wide, even as he continued.

"She hasn’t been, despite informing your training staff of her supposed compliance, and it became clear when she was unable to receive aid at the last game and experienced a profoundly negative reaction in her follow-up rehab.”

The tie-dyed heap winced.

“So, as we stated earlier, in order to continue to play with the team, your coach has decided to require someone else to confirm her commitment to her rehab regimen. With that in mind and because of the sensitivity of the rehab in question, we asked Christen to choose who she would want to come alongside her."

Tobin gulped.

Christen covered her face with her hands.

"She chose you."

* * *

"Sorry, hold on, let me just get this straight. You want me to room with Christen to confirm with you whether or not she is _masturbating_?!"

"Well, no, actually. Masturbating is one of the hopeful milestones of the practice actually. More specifically, whether she is touching herself daily with the effort of alleviating the stress she experiences when she or anyone else touches her in that region, whether sexually or otherwise.’

Christen finally pulled her hands off her face and leaned forward with a sigh, mirroring the flabbergasted Tobin with elbows on her knees.

"Look Tobin, I don’t actually — I — well, let’s just say that you’re not going to have to watch me...”

Her hands pulled at her sweatshirt collar, then rubbed against the knees of her sweatpants in an anxious push.

”...come or anything. I don’t do that. This isn’t something I enjoy doing. It’s work for me. That’s why we’re here, is I don’t like it, so I didn’t do it, and because of that, I freaked out. I got that cleat to my thigh, but it was right there …” her glance seemed almost apologetic towards their trainer, “ _against_ me you know, and when Chuck tried to check it when they carried me off the field, I freaked out, ok?"

Green eyes glared a hole in the carpet.

"I couldn’t handle it. So, you’re here because, for me to play, I have to prove that I’m working on being better at this. That I can handle something as simple as a massage or a therapist for a strain. And if I need someone to prove to them that I’m doing it, it’s worth it to play. So can you just … can you just do this? Please?"

She was finally making eye contact, and she looked so stressed and anxious, and God, Tobin had no idea how to feel about this — like, how the hell was this an actual therapy? And —

But Tobin knew the fear of not being able to play. That some injury would take her out of the game forever. And if this would let Christen stay, she could do it, right? Right?

Tobin stayed there, looking into Christen’s worried eyes for a few seconds more.

She swallowed hard.

"Ok."

* * *

20 minutes later found her unpacking her bag at the foot of the bed closest to the bathroom, Christen’s things already stored in drawers or laid out on the bed by the window. The two women hovered in their separate areas, unsure how to step forward.

"Thanks for doing this, Tobin," the woman offered, sitting at the foot of the bed and staring somewhere in the vicinity of the TV. "I know it’s like … the worst and weirdest request ever but … it means a lot."

Tobin couldn’t contain herself.

"Can I just ask one question?"

Christen’s head tipped a bit to the left, staring at Tobin through her periphery.

"Why me?"

The forward flushed as Tobin continued.

"I would have guessed you’d ask Becky, after Ireland. Or Kelley maybe, because of Stanford."

"Actually, I did ask Kelley."

Well, that made her heart drop into her stomach somewhat. I mean, it’s not that she was comfortable with this or anything! But ... it _had_ felt oddly good knowing that Christen had asked her, and—

Her thoughts were interrupted as Christen continued:

"She knows a bit about how this all started and we’ve talked about it before, just a little. But when I asked, she said she didn’t think she could. There were reasons, and I didn’t want her to have to deal with them, so…"

_Yikes. That must have been tough._

"...Oh."

"Yeah. And Becky, Becky is great. She’s actually called me every day since the friendly."

Tobin’s stomach felt heavy, and dark. "So why didn’t you ask her?" ( _Whoa, Tobin, try to sound a little normal. You chose not to call._ )

Christen smiled a bit, sort of sad and happy at once. "She’s wonderful, really. I didn’t ask her because, well, I wanted to keep that. Keep her as a person I could talk to about what it was all like. Not as someone who was involved with it all. A friend outside the mess."

Tobin scuffed the toe of one sneaker with the other.

"…So what am I?"

Christen looked at her more fully, a curious intensity to her eyes that made Tobin feel like the room heat had just turned on suddenly. Christen looked down.

"Someone who makes me feel safe."

* * *

3 hours later, they both returned from dinner; an awkward affair between them and the coaching staff, all but a few who were confused to see the two players there so early.

Tobin and Christen sat next to each other, eating quietly, shoulders brushing occasionally as Jill gabbed about her plans for the tournament. By silent but mutual agreement, they ate quickly, and departed before many others had even made it halfway through their own chicken, asparagus, and rice.

When they had both brushed their teeth, taking turns using the bathroom to change, they settled on top of the covers of their respective beds.

Despite the slow, stuffy drag of the last few hours, time never actually stops.

There were no more minutes left to drag. 

With an almost guillotine-approach trepidation, Tobin adjusted her crossed legs and shuffled till she was facing the other woman.

"So…”

 _Pull it together, Tobin._

“How do we do this? Am I supposed to watch, or just like, be here doing my own thing, or …"

_Jesus, truly what was this supposed to look like?_

The alto trailed off in embarrassment.

Christen’s face was obscured by a hand but there were enough gaps to catch her smiling in a sort of crooked, pained way.

"Think there’s any chance I can convince you to forget about this? Or lie for me?"

Tobin shifted awkwardly.

"Yeah. I know." The sigh was resigned. "I don’t know, I haven’t exactly done this with someone before… Maybe — I don’t know —"

Christen snorted suddenly.

"Any chance you want to go first so we both have something to hold over each other’s heads?"

Tobin froze, eyes snapping to the completely serious face.

…

Christen cracked a smile and Tobin’s lungs unlatched like a drowning sailor into fresh air. 

"Thought I was serious, did ya?"

A pillow quickly introduced itself to Christen’s face, dropping to reveal a mess of curls, giggles erupting from within.

"Shut up," Tobin gasped, hand over her heart with a wild grin.

But the tension was broken, and Christen eased back a little more lightly into the headboard.

"Did you bring a book? What if you get it out so you have something to focus on, and I’ll just … get under the covers and do my thing?"

Tobin giggled a bit more, suddenly punch-drunk with the whole situation. "Your _thing_?"

Christen eyes met the back of her head. "HEATH." But she didn’t sound too mad.

They shuffled around a bit, Tobin rustling in her bag for the 4th Harry Potter, Christen getting situated under the rose-colored, mystery-patterned hotel quilt. 

When Tobin got comfortably settled under her own quilt with the book, there was an audible pause in the room. She glanced at Christen — "Um…"

Another sigh. "Ok, so you read, and I’ll …"

"K," Tobin said quickly. She turned her gaze to the book and tried to make sense of any word on the page. All she could hear was the gentle shuffling in the bed next to her as Christen scooted down, and _wow_ , was it hot in here? Tobin grasped at her neckline in discomfort and tried to focus again. She wasn’t looking, really she wasn’t, but she could see the jostled movements of a hand under the comforter, there in the corner of her eyes, and — _STOP_ , ok.

_“The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall."_

She was reading about Dennis Creevey being sorted into Gryffindor when a noise distracted her.

Tobin slid her eyes to the left, trying not to give away that she was looking. There was still a bump under the comforter where she knew a hand must be but it had stilled and Christen’s other hand was over her eyes and she was — was she _crying_?

"… Christen?"

The other woman let out a sob.

_Oh God, definitely crying. Think of something! Maybe... but no. Um — she could—_

"It’s fine, Tobin. It’s fine.” The voice was strained, like the metallic shrill of old bike gears clicking into action. “Can you just… turn out the light? I think that’s enough for tonight."

She couldn’t move — too paralyzed by the gentle weeping going on in the bed next to her.

" _Tobin_." It was dagger sharp this time.

"Ok, I’ve got it." She leaned over and hit the switch, room sinking into darkness. She could hear Christen turn over in bed. Just vaguely see her curl into a ball under the covers by the light of a passing car. There were still quiet sniffles and Tobin’s hands flexed in a fit of uselessness.   


She didn’t know what to _do._

But it didn’t feel like Christen would be open to anything either.   


There was nothing left.

"… Goodnight, Christen."

The tremulous inhale made Tobin’s ribcage shudder.

"...Goodnight, Tobin."

She waited a bit longer in the humid dark.  
  
But nothing came.

Tobin turned over, facing the wall.

It took her a long while to fall asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Becky: Ashlyn, can I talk to you?  
> Ashlyn: Oooooh someone is in trouble!  
> Becky: *stares*  
> Ashlyn: It’s me. I don’t know why I said that.
> 
> This is actually a legitimate therapeutic exercise in real life and one with both medical and emotional justifications. I'm looking forward to unfolding Christen's story to you!


	2. A Big Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin’s jaw hung slack and her eyes met green. They were fuming; sharp and dangerous. "Get out, Tobin." Tobin’s eyes fell to the two sets of bare feet just outside the stream of water. Rose up to the sliver she could see of a towel-clad body pressed tightly against Christen’s and — "Tobin, LEAVE!" the woman-turned-viper hissed.
> 
> Tobin found herself stumbling back a step, heart pounding in her chest, never having even said a word. She turned and with a stuttering breath, made a run for it. 
> 
> What the HELL was that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley: So does anyone have any questions?  
> Lindsey: Is this legal?  
> Kelley:  
> Kelley: Does anyone have any relevant questions?
> 
> Trigger Warning: this chapter features the topic of self-injury.

**2/9/16  
 **Frisco, TX** **

Girls arrived throughout the day, trickling in by van-loads of similar airport arrivals.

Her shoulders tensed as the first set arrived but nobody seemed to find her presence in the breakfast room strange. Tobin’s body settled comfortably into their assumptions that she must have had an earlier flight. Christen was late to the room anyway, taking a phone call with one of her sisters, so it’s not like they would have seen them together.

When the forward finally did enter she made a beeline for coffee, setting her full cup at Carli’s table before going back to fill her plate. Tobin’s eyes traced the shift of her shoulders, searching for any signs of the tension she must still be carrying from last night.

_How long has she been carrying this around? Did she feel as awkward about it as I did? Does she want to talk about it or pretend it doesn’t exist?_

A plate crashed in front of her with a clatter. "Hey, Tobin."

She’d think about it later.

"Hey, Ashlyn."

* * *

**2/10/16  
 **Frisco, TX  
 **CONCACAF Group Stage: US v Costa Rica (5-0)  
 **Goals: Morgan, Lloyd, Dunn, Morgan, Press** ******

Christen scored a goal that game. It was a thing of beauty, honestly. It left Tobin gasping from the bench — the cut, the fake-out, the smallest window that Christen still somehow managed to slot the ball through, arcing it into the back left corner.

She still cried that night. When she once again turned the light out immediately afterwards, Tobin felt it like a shutting door.

* * *

**2/13/16  
 **Frisco, TX  
 **CONCACAF Group Stage: US v Mexico (1-0)  
 **Goals: Lloyd** ******

Allie had a crowd congregated in the corner trying to explain to Becky why Vines were a thing.

So far they had made it through ' _AH Stahhhhp. I couda dropped mah croissant'_ , ' _Why you always lying?'_ , and ' _What up, I’m Jared, I’m 19, and I never fucking learned how to read'_.

With every clip Becky looked more confused.

"Is illiteracy a joke to you?"

But all she could see was Christen’s tired eyes. The way her hands pulled just a bit too tight at her laces.

Tobin wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. 

* * *

**2/14/16:  
 **Frisco, Texas  
 **Day between CONCACAF games 2 &3** ****

"Sweetheart, I’m going to sit behind you, ok?"

When Mal gave a slight nod of her head Christen slung her leg over and around Mal’s back, leaned against the locker, and pulled the younger woman toward her chest.

"Ok, now breathe, honey."

"I AM breathing."

"Like me."Christen started to take long and exaggerated breaths, blowing them through pursed lips with a wisping rush.

Slowly, Mal melted back into her and began to try the same.

"There you go. A few more for me." Little by little, the girl’s shoulders fell from their anxious hunch. "Good. Now you were rambling a bit earlier. Can you tell me what’s going on?’

At this point, most could tell that Christen had the situation under control and began shuffling around the locker room again, trying to give the pair a sense of privacy in the moment. Tobin sat at the end of the bench with her back turned, packing her bag up slowly in a play to listen in.

"I’m _starting_ tomorrow, Christen, and I know I’ve played before, and I know I’ve done this a thousand times on other teams but I was out there today and I couldn’t FOCUS. I know I’m gonna mess it all up. I can feel it. And I missed that pass in the scrimmage, and it was _obvious_ and we lost and it was my fault and I should have seen it! What if I miss that tomorrow and they SCORE, Christen?!"

"Shhhh, sweetheart." Christen wrapped her arms bodily around the rookie and breathed deeply. "You did fine today. But I do hear that you feel out of it. Can I try something with you that a sports psychologist did for me?” Mal tilted her chin up and back a bit to make eye contact, brow furrowed.

"It’s good, trust me. Watch." One arm still tight around Mal’s torso, hand splayed against her side, Christen propped her other elbow up on the girl’s shoulder, stretched out her arm and lifted one solitary finger.

“See that?I want you to focus on my finger for one minute. Just that and nothing else. Tobin!" Tobin almost spun off the bench, heart beating like she’d been going 90 and blue lights just flashed. "I need you to be our timer, ok? Tell us when one minute is up."

_Not caught._

"Uh, yeah, one moment." She rustled in her bag to grab her phone, flicking open the clock app. "Stopwatch is ready."

"Ok, Mal. Just my finger, for one full minute."

A few seconds passed before one singular brow rose in her direction.

“Oh. Yeah, ok…" she pressed the button — "go."

For 60 full seconds, she watched the two women breathe deeply, Mal’s precious little nose wrinkling as she stared at the finger like it had personally offended her. Christen just held steady, chin perched on the girl’s left shoulder as they both stared at the motionless digit.

"… Time."

Christen dropped her hand, moving it to run through the girl’s ponytail instead, readjusting it over her shoulder.

"What was that like, babylove?"

"I don’t know. What was that supposed to be for? It was… hard, I guess? I mean, it was easy enough for the first 20 seconds but then I had to keep reminding myself what I was doing. Like 'that is a finger and you are supposed to be looking at it.' It was weird.” She huffed. “See? I can’t focus!"

Christen laughed and smacked a quick kiss to her temple. Squeezed a hug. "No baby, that’s exactly what’s supposed to happen. Look, here’s what he told me. We think focusing is this singular steady stream. Like… we’re supposed to be thinking about that and that alone or we’re doing it wrong. But that’s not actually how brains work. There is too much going on around us. Focusing, in reality, is the process of constantly _refocusing_. Just like you were doing a second ago. Do you get it?"

Tobin chanced a glance up as the girl’s mouth twisted, clearly trying to grasp what it was Christen was telling her.

"You’re saying that we’re _supposed_ to have to keep reminding ourselves what we’re doing."

"Right! You’re not failing out there. You’re not. You may be stressed, but Mal, you are _so good_ at this game. You’ve already trained your body how to do this. You’re just hyper aware of it today because you’re anxious about starting tomorrow."

Mal hummed and slumped a little more against the warm body supporting her.

"Do you think I can do it, Christen? Do you think I can really belong on this team?"

Ok, she’d been looking at them for a while now. But Tobin was enraptured. Unbidden, an image of the Madonna and Child in the Met painted across her mind … which was ridiculous. But Christen was — it was like she knew exactly what to _do_.

"Baby, look at me." Mal’s head knocked back against her breastbone, craning to peer up as Christen tipped her head down to see eye to eye."You are the future of this program." She pulled her own curl that had slipped against the girl’s cheek back behind her ear. "And you’ll have bad days, and bad plays — we all do. But whenever you see your vision slipping, don’t feel like you’re failing. Just refocus. And then you’ll make it through no matter what. Promise."

She grinned suddenly and sorta shook the girl in her arms, Mal giggling."And there is GOLD in that future, baby! Let’s GO!" And after one more tight squeeze she pushed the girl forward off the bench, Mal jumping up and turning around with a big smile, hands outstretched to pull the forward up into a hug.

"Thanks, Chris."

Christen snuck one last kiss against the smaller girl’s head.

"Any time, Mal."

  
Nearby, Tobin got an idea.

* * *

**2/15/16  
 **Frisco, TX  
 **CONCACAFGroup Stage: US v Puerto Rico (10-0)  
 **Goals: Dunn, Lloyd, Dunn, O’Hara, Own Goal, Dunn, Press, Dunn, Dunn, Mewis** ******

Mal had crushed it, nabbing an assist in just the 6th minute, and later lobbed a ball so hard at the goal that even when it hit a defender’s knee it snapped back into the net scoring an Own Goal. Tobin took it as a confirmation.

* * *

5 hours later, Tobin and Christen were going about their still-new yet quickly-familiar nighttime ritual. The brunette had already changed into her sweatpants and sleep shirt, Christen finishing up her own changing and ablutions in the bathroom. The faucet finally quieted and Tobin sunk down to sit on the edge of her bed, fingers tapping anxiously at the sides of her knees. When the door opened, her head snapped up.

Christen froze in the doorway and the midfielder knew her waiting was obvious. The forward approached her own bed with uncharacteristic hesitation.

"…What’s up, Tobin?" Her hands busied themselves with folding back the quilt but she could feel those piercing brown eyes on her back.

"I wanted to talk about your … therapy."

Her hands mussed the angle with a jolt and she smoothed it out silently, trying to keep her voice level. "You want to switch rooms?"

"No!" Tobin shocked herself with the quick outburst; took a deep breath and tried a little slower. "No. I actually — look. You’re not doing well, Christen. You’ve cried every night."

 _Pretty sure that quilt has been adjusted 3 times now_.

Tobin panicked. "It’s ok. I’m not trying to — or — I just… I want to help."

Christen finally turned, but she looked like an actor in a role.

"And how do you intend to do that, Heath?"

It was drawled and low, and Tobin’s stomach flipped.

_No ma’am. You can do this. You know she needs help._

Tobin fought down her anxiety alongside her blush, shoulders taking on strength. "Christen, don’t try to make me embarrassed. I’m serious. You are _struggling_. And I don’t know why but you are." Christen dropped the vamp, hand shoving into her hair as her lips pursed with a glance away. "…And it’s killing me to listen to you crying every night. If I have to be a part of this, I just want to _help_ you."

She sank into a mirror of Tobin’s position with a sigh. "Ok, but … how, Tobin? Seriously. This is a pretty private thing."

"I know. I can’t help you with what you’re doing but I _can_ help you not feel alone." She waited till Christen’s eyes were on her, voice going soft at the vulnerable cast of her face. She was listening now. "I saw you with Mal yesterday. You really knew how to take care of her. The rest of us could tell that our words weren’t getting through but you… you did something about it."

"So?"

"So, maybe I can do that for you. Just be … near you, so you know you’re not alone. I could, I don’t know — " she ran a hand through her hair. God, this was awkward. "How about I just…"

Tobin pushed herself up and took the step to Christen slowly; the green eyes tracking her cautious, but curious.

Tobin sat down carefully, then shuffled — slowly, like when you’re reaching out your hand to a rescue, hoping to prove that you’re safe — till her back hit the headboard, heels pushing at the quilt until there was an empty space between her not-quite-crossed legs. Finally, she looked back at the other woman and patted theempty sheet.

It took a few seconds, gaze measuring, perhaps even a little fearful Tobin thinks, but she began to move into place, spinning on the quilt till she was a foot or two in front of the waiting brunette. Christen flicked her hair behind her shoulder — "should I …?"

"Yeah, come here."

Christen pressed back the last few inches, resting her head just under Tobin’s chin and her elbows against the tops of her knees.

"Wait, can you grab my book?"

Christen arched over her knee, grabbing the Harry Potter from the floor. Tobin set it open on the bed to her left, propped up by her hand.

"Ok, now I’ll read out loud to us and you can just ... do your thing. And if you get anxious, take a deep breath. Match my breathing. Ok? And maybe you’ll feel less alone."

Christen’s fingers were hanging, flexing somewhere in front of Tobin’s knees. She took a deep breath that Tobin could feel through her chest.

"Ok."

"Ok." She angled the book back, picking up a few sentences before where she’d stopped last night.

_”'Wonder what the tasks are going to be?' said Ron thoughtfully. 'You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We’ve done dangerous stuff before…' 'Not in front of a panel of judges you haven’t,' said Fred…"_

Christen’s right hand hovered over her stomach, lungs dragging ragged breaths into her torso. But she felt warmer. Sort of enclosed, like she was tucked away in a soft place. She squeezed her eyes shut. _This was just a friend. Just Tobin. She had asked to do this. This isn’t weird. Well, this is hella weird, but it’s ok. It will be ok._

Her hand snuck in the front of her grey Stanford sweats.

Tobin’s voice stumbled briefly, then kept reading. Kept reading even as the woman between her legs jostled slightly, elbow bumping up against the inside of Tobin’s thigh, barely moving.

But moving.

Tobin felt her heart racing, and worked to keep her breath even. Safe. Controlled. The weight of a head on her chest rising with every inhale. Christen’s hair smelling like tea tree oil.

_"'McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they’ve done the tasks.' 'Who are the judges?' Harry asked."_

They were about 16 pages into the 15th chapter of Goblet of Fire when Tobin heard a quiet sniffle. Then another. Her reading slowed slightly. The frame pressed against her own trembled in a shaky exhale.

"Chris?"

A whimper escaped.

Tobin snuck an arm around Christen’s waist, tucking under the elbow that had now frozen, the forward’s hand still tucked just under a sweatpants waistband. Tobin dropped the book with a quiet thump against the quilt, her other arm moving to wrap across the woman’s chest, grasped the shoulder on the far side, a steady weight on the shuddering lungs. A tear landed on her forearm and dripped around the curve to the inside of her wrist. It tickled and Tobin restrained her innate instinct to brush it off.

Christen’s unoccupied hand came up to grasp her wrist, fingers clenched.

Tobin let the side of her mouth fall and rest against the dark locks under her chin.

"It’ll be ok, Chris. You’re ok. I’m here."

* * *

**2/19/19  
 **Houston, TX  
 **CONCACAF Semifinal: US v Trinidad and Tobago (5-0)  
 **Goals: Heath, Morgan, Lloyd, Morgan, Morgan** ******

Tonight, Christen had asked for Tobin to just talk to her rather than read. It had taken a moment to come up with a topic but once she’d settled on funny stories about Jeff, Perry, and Katie as kids, it was easy enough to cozy into. And for the first time, Christen made it through without a single tear.When the woman hugged her afterward, a tiny "thanks for not making me do this alone" dropped as soft as a petal. Then she slipped to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Tobin’s chest lit up like she had personally won the World Cup.

* * *

**2/21/16  
 **Houston, TX  
 **CONCACAF Final: US v Canada (2-0)  
 **Goals: Horan, Heath** ******

Flying home to Portland after the CONCACAF celebrations should have felt like sinking into a warm bath after a long day.

Instead, Tobin just lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering how she was supposed to fall asleep without the cadence of Christen’s breathing in the next bed.

* * *

**3/3/16  
 **Tampa, Florida  
 **She Believes Cup, Game #1  
 **US v England (1-0)  
 **Goals: Dunn** ********

"Heath, Morgan, Horan, Sonnett, O’Hara, Long. All of you are staying for media. Sonnett, you’re sharing about what it’s like to be at your first tournament with the USWNT. Morgan, focus on your hunger for goals at Rio. Everyone else, focus on the game and keep it classy." Jill power walked out of the room, the other players wandering after her towards the bus.

Tobin followed Christen with her eyes as the woman headed towards the door, turning around right at the end with a sympathetic smile and a little flutter of her fingers before slipping out the exit. It’d been almost 2 weeks between the tournaments and when she finally saw her today Tobin had barely been able to say hi before orientation and warm-ups began.

"Oh, great. Once again we’re going to be the only adults in the vicinity." Tobin’s head snapped back at the voice. _Oh. Alex, right._ The taller woman’s nose wrinkled but the bite of it was softened by the little smile on her face.

"Kelley and Allie are adults," Tobin attempted. 

Alex snorted, tossing her shinguards in her bag. "Tobin. Kelley and Allie just set fire to our locker room."

Tobin looked over at the smoke rising from inside the trashcan, the two women starting to shove each other back and forth in what looked like a panicked argument. A few flames rose bursting above the rim, and the troublemakers sprang back in alarm. The new kid Sonnett was crying with laughter, Horan just filming it all on her phone. Tobin frowned.

"Should we do something about that?"

"Nah." Alex swung her arm around Tobin’s shoulders, leading them out of the room to go find the news crews.

That night, when Tobin holds Christen, it almost feels normal.

* * *

**3/6/16  
 **Nashville,Tennessee  
 **She Believes Cup, Game #2  
 **US v France (1-0)  
 **Goals: Morgan** ********

She could have sworn she saw Christen in the locker room earlier, but she could also swear she hadn’t left. And Mal hadn’t made it to the locker room at all. Neither was on media this game - that was Morgan, Solo, Lloyd, and Brian, so where were they? Everyone else was already out by the bus, and really if they didn’t finish soon they were going to miss it. _I’ll just go check._

As she walked in to the adjoining team bathroom, the steam from all the women’s showers was starting to dissipate, Tobin’s reflection visible but smudged in the row of mirrors. Low murmured voices echoed brokenly from the back above the sound of water. _Ah._

Tobin turned the corner to the stalls, walking towards the only one with water still running. About to announce herself, she felt a strange prickle on the back of her neck, like she was walking into the scene of some B-rated thriller — she closed her mouth instead.

She crept a few steps closer.

Just a whisper.

"Mal, babylove, let me see you."Then a whimper, sneaking through the pulse and rush of the shower, faint but obvious. Her throat dropped into her stomach, and Tobin snuck inexorably closer to the drawn curtain, heart pounding behind her ears. This could _not_ be what she thought it was. 

_Just turn around, Tobin. This is not your business._

Her feet took one step; another.

Tobin pulled the curtain and gasped.

Christen was in loose mesh shorts and a t-shirt, hair still dripping wet down the back to darken the fabric, and she was kneeling. She was kneeling, and Mal was in front of her, back against the stall wall in nothing but a towel. And Christen’s hands were up. Christen’s hands were — they were _on_ Mal, lifting the towel above her hips and Mal was _naked_ practically and —

Christen leaped, shielding the smaller girl’s body with her own. "What the _hell,_ Tobin!" Mal ducked her head into Christen’s shoulder as the older woman snuck an arm around her waist, right arm stiff above her shoulder against the wall. Christen shuffled slightly to the right, giving her back to Tobin like a little more surface area could hide the obvious undress of the girl clutched against her. 

Tobin’s jaw hung slack and her eyes met green. They were fuming; sharp and dangerous. "Get out, Tobin." Tobin’s eyes fell to the two sets of bare feet just outside the stream of water. Rose up to the sliver she could see of a towel-clad body pressed tightly against Christen’s and — "Tobin _, LEAVE!"_ the woman-turned-viper hissed.

Tobin found herself stumbling back a step, heart pounding in her chest, never having even said a word. She turned and with a stuttering breath, made a run for it.

_What the HELL was that?_

* * *

Chris knows, she _knows_ that bus buddies are sacred — that everyone hates when you mess things up. Considers it bad luck. But after ten minutes of people griping about being made to wait (though mostly good-naturedly) and Tobin waiting anxious and tense in her seat, Christen and Mal spilled onto the bus in a rush with their bags, hair damp and glistening. But when Chris got to her row — right across the aisle with Kelley slumped and snoring against the window, she moved past without a pause.

"Lindsey, go sit with Kelley today."

The blonde snapped up in confusion. "Wait, really?"

" _YES,_ Lindsey. I want to sit with Mallory."

A couple eyes peered with interest at the odd scene and Tobin’s heart pounded double time.

"Uh… yeah ok." And maneuvering awkwardly around the two standing women, Lindsey walked up to fall into what should have been Chris’s seat, glanced at Tobin’s scowl, and promptly got into conversation with Ali in front of her instead. Chris and Mal filled in the empty row, heads huddled close together. Tobin couldn’t pick it up but obviously something intense was being discussed.

 _Probably how I literally walked in on Christen about to eat her out - Jesus Christ, this was a mess._

She picked at some dirt under her thumbnail, jaw tense and grinding. She could feel an anger starting to burn low in her gut, growing larger and more violent with every mile to the hotel.

_What the hell was Christen doing? Mal was seventeen! She’s a BABY, and this is… it’s predatory! How long had this been going on? They’d only known each other 2 months! What the fuck, Christen, what have you gotten yourself into._

The longer she thought, the higher the fire rose and by the time they arrived at the drop-off zone in front of the lobby, Tobin was near volcanic with ire.

As she got off the bus, she pulled around the front waiting for her moment.

After a stream of teammates, Mal got off first, bag hiked over her shoulder like a shield, head low and path direct. Christen emerged right on her heels and Tobin reached to snag the strap of her duffel, yanking her to the side.

" _We need to talk, Christen._ _”_

She rolled her eyes and Tobin wanted to explode at it already —felt her mouth opening — "I can’t talk right now, Tobin, I need to go check on Mallo—" Torn from her short-tempered denial, Christen squeaked as Tobin, firm hand still on her bagstrap, marched away from the lobby doors and over to a side lot instead.

"Tobin, I don’t have _time—"_

 _"_ We’re making the time, Christen. What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing! She’s a _minor,_ Christen. She’s _seventeen_ and you have her waiting for you in the showers?! I thought I knew you, Chris, but what the _fuck?!"_

Eyes slanted dangerously.

"Ex _CUSE_ me?! You think I’m —" Christen wrenched her body violently, snatching the bag out of Tobin’s grasp "— what?! Tobin, _fuck."_

She huffed out a forest fire of a breath. Closed her eyes for one inhale, and then opened again, gaze fierce and unrelenting as ice. "I don’t have time to explain this to you. Now back the fuck off because I need to go check on Mallory."

"Like hell I’m letting you see her! You’re lucky I’m not going straight to Jill! _Chris_ ," but the woman had turned sharply and begun marching back to the automatic doors, Tobin left to trot until she caught up by the elevators. 

Christen was jabbing at the button like force could make the thing move faster, head straight and tense, refusing to look at the brunette at her side. Tobin’s breath was coming quick and short and her bones feel like they could jump out of her skin. She could run a mile just from the jitteriness of it all, and she scuffed her feet back and forth, back and forth over the tile, arms crossed tersely on her ribs. Christen was a statue.

One _ding_ later the doors opened and Christen jolted towards the — "Ladies!" Her foot dropped heavily to the floor in the weight of a preempted step. Tobin could see her scrambling to pull herself together, face a mess of emotions as clattering steps echoed off the floor behind them. With a spin, she put on a smile Tobin is pretty sure she’d run from if it was pointed at her. Or maybe she just knew how Christen was feeling right now but, _wow_ , that was like watching a knife in face form and —

"I wanted to catch you both. I wanted to book the two of you to do a special press session after the Germany game. As we build up to the Olympics, networks are swarming and that makes it an optimal time for the federation to…" Jill’s words settled into a drone as Tobin glanced at Christen again, face wickedly polite as she nodded. Tobin wondered if her finger would bleed like from shattered glass if she ran it down the tensing jawline— "… so I just wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any hangups and you knew what we were expecting of you," Jill closed with a thumbs up and too happy grin. Tobin’s mouth opened but Christen’s body became a wall in front of her, one tense hand reaching behind her back to lock on Tobin’s wrist.

Tobin could practically hear the grind of her teeth behind the smile.

"Of course, Jill, I’m sure Tobin and I can handle it."

Jill’s teeth flashed even more visible with a squeeze at Press’s shoulder.

Tobin tried again to shif— but Christen shifted with her and the moment was lost.

"Perfect. Knew I could count on you two! Take it easy tonight."

"Night," Tobin offered uselessly late to the receding back.

The pressure on her wrist released as Christen spun with a glare before attacking the elevator again with singular purpose. Waited, waited— Tobin realized the floor indicators were both moving up.

She flinched as that weapon of a body spun and stalked towards the stairwell. _Christ, that woman is fast._

Tobin loped behind her, needing to hop two stairs at a time to keep up.

Tobin was just following through the heavy emergency door to the floor when the woman spun one more time, a hand forcing itself against her breastbone. _OOf._

"Leave it, Tobin. Just go to our room. I’ll explain later."

_Like hell._

Inch by steady inch, Tobin pushed into her hand, Christen’s elbow finally folding at the pressure. It spurred an angry snort. _That jawline really could cut though._

Tobin didn’t stop till her nose was inches from the forward’s, the door swinging heavily into place behind her with a _thump_.

"No."

Green eyes flickered back and forth from brown ones, too many emotions to interpret in the mix.

Tobin held her ground. 

The hand, still on Tobin’s chest, turned into a fist to thump lightly once, twice into the bone as a still-damp mane fell against Tobin’s shoulder. 

Then with one last helpless thump, the curls flounced up like ribbons in the wind, the faintest hint of tea tree filling Tobin’s senses. And rose. _  
_

_That must be the body wash._

" _FINE._ But I’m checking on her right now whether you like it or not."

She could feel her shoulders relax just slightly, but the ire held. "Fine,” Tobin sneered with a toss of her hand at the hall; "Let’s go."

The pursed mouth huffed quietly, turning to march towards room 312. Rapped three times on the door.

Lindsey was the one who opened, phone in her hand and one earbud still in. "Yeah?"

"I need to speak to Mal."

"Uh, she’s been in the bathroom a little while but you can wait for her if you w—"

Tobin flinched as Christen marched right up the bathroom door like her life depended on it, slamming open-handed now, and harder than she had outside.

"Mal, let me in."

Tobin stood awkwardly in the doorway as Lindsey glanced over, eyebrows raised in a question. She shrugged.

More pounding. "Mallory Pugh, if you don’t open this door!"

Still nothing. Christen’s hands were on her hips now, lower lip being brutalized by her teeth. She nodded once sharply, then turned.

"Alright, Lindsey, give me a credit card and then go to another room."

"What??"

" _LINDSEY._ Do it!"

The blonde’s eyebrows were tight furrows and Tobin could spy worry in the glint of her eye, but she grabbed her wallet from the nightstand, tossing it into the waiting hands. Christen pulled out a random card and tossed it back. Went and knelt by the door.

With one last hesitation she looked over her shoulder at the blonde, a softer look in her eyes.

"It’s ok, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’ll have her explain later. Just give us some time, ok?"

She waited till the tall blonde made eye contact and nodded, moving out into the hallway. Tobin pulled the door shut; by the time she looked back Christen had the card wedged between the brass handle and the doorframe, working at it in little motions with her tongue between her teeth. A few seconds, a turn of the handle, and the door popped open with a click.

Chris didn’t even get off her knees, just crawled sort of and pushed into the now open room, Tobin trailing behind when —

_Oh. Oh God._

Mallory was sitting on the floor, eyes big and wet as she stared at Christen sliding towards her on the tile, cooing at the girl as she brought a hand to her cheek.

"Shhh babylove, it’s ok. You’re ok, just hand it to me."

Tobin looked down to see the small blade in Mal’s hand, a ruined razor beside her on the floor. It looked like she’d cracked the plastic head with her teeth probably and drawn one of the three strips out. God, it was barely a centimeter tall and an inch wide but —

—But there was blood on the girl’s hips, several long lines of it, and Tobin could tell this wasn’t the first time. Various scars (some pink, some white in a tight block under the current crimson) all sat confined to two square-ish patches near each hipbone. The cuts didn’t look deep, thank God, but Tobin could feel her pulse pounding all the same and she slumped involuntarily against the sink, fixed on the tableau in front of her.

Christen had both cheeks in her hands now, turning the girl’s head to meet her gaze.

"Sweetie," Christen’s hair was in the way but Tobin could tell by the choked breath that the woman had started crying, "put it down."

Mal looked down and her eyes widened, almost like she was surprised by what she found in her hand. She thrust it quickly away, the metal tinkling softly as it met the wall, then floor. Tobin picked it up and looked around for something to do with it — grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and wrapped it carefully around the little thing, shoving it in her sweatshirt pocket.

Christen was still cooing softly; mumbled words of comfort as she was twisting, trying to get Mal in a position where she could check the damage.

"Just — just lean back so I can see, baby, I need to see what to do —"

But the girl was crying now too; strange deep sobs with too much space in between, like her lungs couldn’t get enough air in as she folded over with her hands scrambling to cover the damage. Christen looked like she was about to panic.

_DO something._

Tobin inhaled.

"Just hold her Chris. Like before. Let me— …I’ve got this. You just get her."

Green eyes sprang up to her own. 

Tobin was sure she looked half crazy, eyes wide and and white, but it must have been close enough to calm that Christen nodded. She stood up and dropped into a seated position with her back against the tub, legs spread wide, and grabbed Mallory around her waist, hauling the girl back against her chest as she sobbed, head twisting to the side to shove against Christen’s collarbone like she was trying to bury into her chest and hide there. Like she could maybe breathe if she could just get into Christen’s lungs.

Dark and trembling arms wrapped around her tightly, trying to contain all of that shaking against her. Make the girl solid again.

Tobin looked around the room for anything that would help.

There!

A toiletry bag.

Every soccer player keeps the basics around for turf burns or small injuries. She grabbed it and shook it open on the ground, searching for — ha! A little tube of Neosporin, and a box of assorted bandaids.

Ok, good start.

She looked around again.

Washcloth!

Tobin snatched it off of the towel bar, turning the handles of the sink to make a warm stream of water, dampening it, then putting in a pump of soap, rubbing it so that suds sank into the fabric. She could hear a keening sound coming from the crumbled body and Christen letting out little sh-sh-shs.

She knelt between Christen’s feet.

"Mallory, can you straighten out a little for me there. I’d like to clean your cuts if that’s ok."

The girl kept crying, curled into the black woman’s chest and Tobin glanced up, uncertain how to proceed.

Christen caught on quickly.

"Shhhh sweetheart, my babylove, it’s ok, I’ve got you. Can you lean back against me so Tobin can help you out?"

And after carefully lifting the girl’s wrists away from her hips, trying not to look at the glistening red fingertips, Christen led the girl into a slump against her chest. Then, bending up her own knees, she guided Mallory’s arms between the vee of thighs and ribs to fold into a grasp of her soccer-bruised shins.

The little one lifted her eyes to Tobin and sniffed. "Thanks, Toby."

Tobin wanted to weep.

"Sure honey," the endearment sat awkward and unfamiliar on Tobin’s tongue, but it tasted right. "I’ve got you. Let me take a look at those."

Tobin came closer, knees wedging themselves in to the small space between Christen’s foot and Mal’s knee on either side.

The girl’s shorts were somewhere over beside the vanity, her boyshorts pulled low at the edges where she’d been cutting.

_How to go about this?_

Thankfully, the forward saw her dilemma and shuffled Mal’s shirt up a little, stained at the edges, so that Tobin could get a good look.

"Ok, I’m just gonna … clean you up a little, yeah?" She hovered the washcloth near her hip, glancing up to make sure Mallory was ok.

The girl sniffed again.

Tobin smiled calmly, trying to make this as easy as possible.

"Alright, here we go."

She grasped the top edge of Mal’s underwear and tugged it just slightly down, bringing the washcloth over to gently swipe over the abused skin.

_Why do hotels always have white towels?!_

The red was sinking in and diffusing to soft pinks over the fabric. She shifted her knees slightly and leaned over, dabbing across the expanse of it, careful to get all the blood as well as anything that could migrate in and aggravate the healing.

Little bits of water were dripping onto Mal’s underwear, darkening the light gray into a heather. Christen’s arms squeezed the girl’s ribs as she sniffed again, releasing a matching whimper.

Tobin twisted to get the other side, repeating the same process. Then, gently, took each hand and pulled the washcloth down her fingers, turning them over to make sure she didn’t miss any blood. Swiped it down Chris’s shin too for good measure before placing the now spotless hand back on its perch; the fingertips leaving damp little whorls of water to trickle down Christen’s skin.

"See, all clean. Now we can get these bandaged up."

Grabbing the Neosporin and the box, she found herself caught up in the question of where to place the latter.

_It doesn’t matter, Tobin. Move.  
_

She settled on Mal’s knees, just until she could get the ointment on.

"Now to keep it healthy."

Internally and in an oddly floating way, she noted that she was impersonating that nurse in the doctor’s office who always explained everything to you as a kid so you knew what to expect.

She’d liked that nurse.

"I’m just going to…" and she squeezed out a little bit onto her finger, showed it to Mal, then brought it down, rubbing gently over each cut — three on her right hip, and two on the left. Tried to ignore the flinches.

"You’re doing so well, Mal," Christen crooned as the girl shut her eyes.

Tobin could tell that Mallory was coming into a little bit more normal of a headspace and realizing the position she was in. A blush rose on young cheeks as she adjusted her shoulders against Christen, clearly uncomfortable.

"Hey, it’s ok. You’re fine, Mal. You don’t need to be embarrassed." Christen glanced into Tobin’s eyes as she spoke, smiling sadly as one hand stroked the girl’s hair back from her forehead.

"She’s right, Mal. I’m happy to help."

The rookie scoffed a bit, eyes still clenched shut like maybe she could will this moment in to no longer existing.

Tobin had opened up the box now, looking for larger bandages that could cover all the cuts at once on either side, thankful this was still a pretty unused set.

She applied a bandaid over each hip, smoothing down the adhesive edges with a fingertip to make sure everything was sealed tight, then, ever so gently, raised Mal’s underwear to sit a little more normally on her hipbones. The girl swallowed and let out a tiny sob.

But the job was finished.

Christen reached down with her right arm, scooped up both of Mal’s legs and swung the girl bodily into a sideways position. She clutched her to her chest, legs wrapping around on either side to hold the trembling girl in the vice of her body.

Mal just tucked back under Christen’s chin again, nuzzling against her neck with a stuttering sniff.

Tobin backed up to squat on her heels, eyeing the pair as Christen began to rock gently, murmuring something unintelligible in the girl’s ear.

_You’re not done._

Tobin pulled all the items on the floor together, dumping them back into the flowered purple bag, zipping it up and placing it on the sink; tossed the bandaid backs in the trash.

Then she hopped up to rinse the washcloth out.

_Shit, shit, I hate white towels._

The stain wasn’t coming out.

And no way would she let Mal find this later and be triggered or embarrassed or — she glanced around — what to do? Ah! _Alright._ She put the washcloth in the bin, throwing in the wrapped up razor from her pocket, tied up the bag, and stood fully upright, hesitating in the doorway.

"Chris?"

The woman looked up.

"I’m going to go throw this away somewhere and … let you two have some space." The woman nodded and smiled sorta lopsided. Tobin turned away.

"Hey, Tobin?"

She turned back.

Christen’s eyelashes were still damp, flickering dully under the fluorescent light.

"… Thanks for being here."

Tobin swallowed hard, swinging the little bag lightly by her side.

Christen turned back to the girl in her arms.

Tobin walked quietly out.

* * *

_God, Tobin, you’re such an idiot._

Tobin was back in her and Christen’s room, showering with hottest water she could stand.

 _You really thought Christen was sleeping with Mal! You actually accused her to her face! And you knew it had to be one sided but you assumed anyway._ She rubbed her hair aggressively, working the shampoo through as she fumed at herself. _You should have noticed. You of all people should have noticed._

Soap dripped into her eyes and she hunched over, cursing. _Dammit! Dammit dammit dammit! You need to apologize. You need to apologize ASAP you fool._

_… But what was I supposed to think?! They were in the shower together. It was logical._

_… She was looking at her cuts, you moron. And you believed the worst._

Tobin huffed angrily, sticking her head under the spray as she tried to flush her face.

 _Today was… hard_. _Give yourself a break; take a breath._ Tobin rinsed the last of the soap out, lingering under the scorching stream for just a little longer, coveting the distraction of it.

With a little groan, she turned it off and grabbed her towel.

The motions were rote. Brushing her teeth. Flossing. Changing. Swinging open the bathroom door, a rush of steam like a robe behind her, she walked into the room to see —

Christen and Mal were sitting on Chris’s bed, Chris against the headboard and Mal crosslegged in the middle, facing the bathroom like she’d been waiting for her.

Tobin scuffed a towel in her wet hair. Rubbed the back of her calf with the other foot. "…Hey."

Christen smiled softly. "Hey Tobin, Mal’s gonna stay here with us tonight if that’s ok."

The girl looked up at Tobin through thick eyelashes, blushing slightly, and Tobin felt her heart melt. "Of _course_ that’s ok, Mal. You can stay with us anytime."

_Well, on second thought, maybe not ANY time, but that’s just because her and Chris were doing some things that would need a lot of explaining._

Tobin walked around between their beds, sitting on her own to face Mal. "What are we talking about?"

Christen eyed Mal a little sternly and the girl flushed, hands fisting in the quilt to her side.

"We were _talking_ about how Mallory is going to speak to me next time before she does anything like this again."

Mal kicked her feet out a bit — it made Tobin think about those old comics ofkids made to sit on a stool for detention. She looked up at Tobin. "Jill knows, so you don’t have to worry about that. I have a therapist back home. Really, it’s been getting better. And Christen has been checking up on me ever since I told her. … I just … got too into my head today."

Tobin nodded. "I get that. I get too in my head sometimes too. What … what got you today?"

Mallory let out a pathetic little moan, scrubbing her hands on her face before falling back onto the bed, knees still hanging over the edge.

"I know we won today. But I felt … I felt like that was in spite of me, you know? I had so many bad touches, and I _know_ I’m not going to make it on the Olympics roster."

She vaulted up again to make eye contact with Tobin.

"Did you realize that I haven’t scored a single goal since my first cap? That’s 7 games I haven’t scored, Tobin. SEVEN. Crystal scored five goals _alone_ against Puerto Rico last month." Christen leaned up to grab the girl’s hand as she kept ranting. "I’m a striker, Tobin. That’s my job. To score goals."

"You’ve had several key assists!" Christen interjected. "And you’re 17! You’re learning! This is a really different level and style of play. You can’t expect to be perfect, Mal." She shook the girl’s arm lightly.

"I know…"

She sighed.

"I know that. Today I just… didn’t know it for a bit. And then you could tell, and you were checking up on me and Tobin _saw_ and I was so embarrassed," (Tobin felt her heart lurch, hating that she was even a small part of this) "and then I just couldn’t shake it. I couldn’t shake it, and when I got back to the hotel I couldn’t help it. I just — I needed to put it somewhere else and this lets me… it lets me take all of that confusion and fear and frustration and place it somewhere physical. Somewhere tangible that hurts and I can touch. And then in a few days it disappears."

Christen frowned, scooting closer on the bed to the slumped girl.

"I know it’s not healthy. But it works. It works for _me._ And it’s hard to give that up sometimes."

Tobin swallowed hard. Readied herself.

"I get it, Mal. I … I _get_ it."

Mallory’s head vaulted up from the quilt, a mix of confusion and apprehension on her face.

"You—"

"Yeah."

Christen looked over now, and Tobin hated it; hated the progression of confusion to realization to brokenness on her face. She glanced over at the TV, Mal, the window. Swallowed again.

"I started to self-injure when I was 14. Cutting some. Burning too. It was… it made sense to me somehow. Like, you know it’s not supposed to but it _does_ and it _works_ in some twisted way. It works because you don’t have anything better. Because no one has taught you or helped you figure out what you’re actually supposed to do. So you find this… thing. This thing that takes all your thoughts that you can’t figure out, or are too big to handle, and it turns them into something so small. Something you can take care of after, and watch heal."

Mal sat up, little lines appearing between her brows.

"Yeah, that’s what it’s like."

Tobin’s hands flexed and released against the edge of the bed.

"But, Mal. There really are better ways. Ways that don’t have to hurt you more."

Tobin’s heels dug into the carpet a bit, twisting. "Can I tell you something?"

The girl looked a little scared, back tensed but nodding.

"You do _not_ need to feel ashamed of this."

Mal’s brow creased a little further, head tilting.

"You’re not broken. This isn’t something to be embarrassed about, or guilty for. You were — you _are_ a child in so many ways. And children aren’t to be blamed for the ways they’ve figured out to survive."

Christen was looking at her, she could feel it, but she kept her eyes on Mal.

“This world is… hard, sometimes, and I don’t know anything about your family really — I’d like to know someday if you’ll tell me — but every family has its issues. And there are things a child should have, a child needs, that they don’t get. And so they cope. They scrounge for anything that helps them get through the day because they want to survive. They want to be ok. And if this is what works, then it works. You survive. Mal, if I could talk to little you, I would say good for you.You figured out how to survive. You figured out how to make it through the darkness and still wake up wanting to push on, even if it hurts."

Mal was fixed.

"But, the tools we had as children _don’t work_ when we grow up. When you grow up, when you leave your house and you start to figure out life on your own, I know it is so tempting to hold on to the solutions you had as a kid. To find comfort in them just because they’re familiar. But the things you were missing there? The things that drove you there in the first place? They can exist _here_. Now. You get to make them exist. You get to find real family. You get to make friendships that actually ask you how you are and it’s safe to tell them. You get to make mistakes in front of someone and have them still love you. You get to heal."

Mal was misty again and Tobin could feel it starting to burn in hers too. No tears. Those rarely happened. But the ache and the burn did. _Ug._

She played into it — sniffed and tilted her head back —"I hate crying."She said it in a way that let Mal knew she could laugh, and she did. Then Tobin brought her head back down and tried a fake stern voice.

"You’re living like that old life, Mal. But it’s done. It’s over. You get to have all of the good things you didn’t have before, and you can learn to meditate, or read books, or talk to people who understand and learn how to live in a way where you don’t have to _hurt_ yourself to handle all of the things that scare you."

She was near the end of it now.

"You get to tell little Mal _'well done, baby, I’m so proud of you for making it this far. But I’ll take us from here. It’s going to be so so good. And we don’t have to do this anymore.'_ …And then you become the vibrant and unapologetic and powerful woman you weren’t old enough to be back then. So no shame. Just… growth. Ok?"

Mal nodded and sniffed, trying to keep her nose from running as she cried for the third time today. "Ok."

Christen stood up and walked between the red-eyed duo, hand pressing into Tobin’s shoulder but body craning over to kiss the crown of Mal’s head.

"I think that’s enough tears for today. I just ordered a pizza online and it should be here in 20. How about we watch a movie?"

Tobin chuckled and used her thumb to smudge a few wet tracks off Mal’s cheek. "Sounds perfect." She winked at the standing woman; "I certainly won’t tell Jill about the pizza if you won’t."

* * *

That night, all three of them curled up in Tobin’s bed, laughing and watching "Sound of Music" on some random channel, and Mal fell asleep halfway through. Tobin turned off the tv at the next commercial break. They all deserved some rest.

"You want to take mine?" Christen yawned.

Tobin shook her head.

"Nah, she can stay here."

And as Christen slipped back into her own bed and turned off the light, Tobin wrapped her arm around the little one sound asleep beside her.

 _She’ll be alright.   
_  
She’s going to be alright.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carli:  
> Allie: TELL ME WHY  
> Alex and Kelley: AIN’T NOTHIN BUT A HEARTACHE  
> Allie: TELL ME WHY  
> Alex and Kelley: AIN’T NOTHING BUT A MISTAKE  
> Carli: I can’t let you all be in the same room together.
> 
> Leave a comment with 1) your favorite part of the story so far, and 2) where you hope it goes!


	3. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christen grazed a hand briefly over Tobin’s cheek, so quickly she thought she might have imagined it. "There’s nothing wrong with spending a night on you, Tobin."
> 
> "No, I know. I just want to know you too. I want to understand."
> 
> Christen sighed, falling onto her back. Tobin found herself missing the warm breath on her neck.
> 
> "Are you sure? We don’t have to do this tonight. It’s a bit of a tale."
> 
> "I'm sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ali: What do you guys want to eat?  
> Ashlyn: you.  
> Lindsey:  
> Mal:  
> Julie:  
> Sam: Can you pretend you didn’t mean to say that or something for our sakes?
> 
> Trigger warning: This chapter contains conversation about self-harm  
> Trigger warning: This chapter contains non-graphic mentions of past sexual assault

**3/7/16  
 **Nashville, Tennesse****

"Tobin?"

Tobin wrapped her finger in a glossy curl; pulled lightly, just to feel the soft of it. "Hm?" She felt sort of sleepy drunk. Like she was swimming in a sea of rosewater. _Why did she always smell so good?_

Christen’s scapulae poked into the midfielder’s chest, each in turn as the darker woman seemed to search for a place to settle in.

Tobin rubbed the tip of her nose against the curling mass of black locks snuggled under her chin, humming again. "What is it, Chris?"

The woman sighed, finger now tracing the bare knee to her right. "Can you tell me about you cutting?"

Shoulders stiffened against the headboard of the hotel bed. This certainly wasn’t what she thought was on the table for tonight. Normally Christen didn’t want to linger too long after her rehab. Tobin wanted to celebrate that the woman felt comfortable enough to hang out with her afterwards, but this topic was… well... sharp. 

"…What about it?"

Fingers kept tracing Tobin’s knee; down and up, down and up. "Yesterday… I didn’t know that about you. And I know why Mal does it but… I want to know why you did, if you’ll tell me."

Christen was breathing long and easy and every exhale brought a pleasant weight against Tobin’s chest, making her feel warm and heavy. Normally Tobin would be all frenetic energy and tension at this topic, but she just couldn’t find it in herself to feel strange. _Christen literally just tried to masturbate in your arms. I think you can show a little vulnerability, Heath._

"Well, I told you I was 14, right?" She could feel the answer rumble through the woman’s back, like a cat.

"Middle school is… I mean it sucks right? For everyone. I know that. But at the time I was so… vulnerable, you know? And I didn’t feel like I fit in. When you’re a kid with a soccer ball, you can jump in a game with anyone and call each other best friends in an afternoon. But at 14, you’re awkward, and gangly, and you’re actually better than everyone and they resent you for it, but you don’t know how to be less that you are, right? I mean, it wasn’t till I got to the U20s that it felt like my skill wasn’t a threat. But by that point, everyone is in competition with each other. You’re not friends. You’re competing for the same few spots for the same few tournaments and there are hundreds of girls ready to step up if you so much as roll an ankle. Even the ones you like are secretly hoping you do, you know?"

Christen hummed before answering. It wasn’t even replying, just picking up with her own story and Tobin felt a little safer for that. For the sharing of it.

"Mine was slightly different, but similar I guess. I remember playing in college mostly. I cried in almost every game I played. I just felt so much stress and pressure that I was letting everyone down if I didn’t score a goal or win the game. And I carried that weight with me into _every_ game. It wasn’t till Sweden that I was offered this … fresh start as a human being. I could be whomever I wanted and could get away from the perceptions people had of me. From the things I didn’t like about myself. No one knew who I was, so I was just playing for the love of the game. And after my first season, my coach came up to me and said 'of all the people you’re the one who smiles the most on the field' and that was the biggest compliment I had ever received because it was so different from who I _was_ in college. Soccer is beautiful but it’s easy to let it be everything. To have it twist into something about you, instead of something you do."

" _Exactly_. And that’s where I was. It had been fun. It’d been this new and exciting puzzle to figure out, and grow in. Like, is there anything better than being 7 years old with a soccer ball?"

Christen chuckled.

"But the better I got the more it became something I _had_ to do well in. And then on top of that, school was hard." Tobin found her gut twisting a little bit - this was drifting into territory she hadn’t shared easily before. "I’m good at soccer. I just am. I work at it like crazy, but I’m also _good._ But school. School, it was like no matter how hard I worked I just couldn’t figure it out. I was getting C’s, D’s if I didn’t … _struggle_ to figure things out. And all these girls on the team would joke about how they didn’t even study and they got A’s. And, Christen, you don’t understand what it’s like to realize you’re _dumb."_

Christen let out a quick breath like she was about to say something but Tobin pressed through.

"You don’t know what it’s like to be this happy kid and finally grow up enough to look around and see that they get it and you don’t and that means that they’re — that _you’re —"_ Tobin huffed, never having put this to words in a way she was satisfied with.

"Then, add in a mom who only seems to notice if you _lose_ a game and a dad who doesn’t know how to say anything other than 'just try harder then, kiddo' and you’ve got a quick recipe for a struggling preteen."

She didn’t know what to do with her hands.

"I know that’s silly. It’s not like I had some great trauma or something. Some horrible home life. I was just… ashamed and I felt like no one could see me and tell me that I was enough, you know? Just me. Win or lose. A or F. That I was something outside of that…"

Christen grabbed a tan hand off the quilt, resting it in one palm, thumb of the other sliding across at the soft place where Tobin’s veins shone through her wrist.

"And then one night I was lying in bed, and my room had this old fashioned heater, right? Like this radiator sort of thing, thick metal, and it would heat up really hot to make the room liveable. And my bed was right in front of it - not on it, so it wouldn’t catch fire in the night or something, but close enough that winters weren’t too bad. Perry had moved to her own room at this point. And one night, I was lying there in the dark with my hands above my head feeling so… worthless. Just so worthless, Christen. Like I could die, and, yeah, my family would grieve a bit but then they’d be fine and they’d move on and it’d be _fine_ because I wasn’t going to accomplish anything anyway. I was only good at soccer and what good was that? What did that matter? And I could feel the heat and without even really thinking about it, I just reached my hand up and pressed my wrist against it. And for a split second, it was fine. But then it _burned —_ it was so sharp _—_ and I pressed it as long as I could before I felt like my skin would come off and I yanked it back."

"It’s not like I thought 'let’s hurt myself and see what happens.' And it wasn’t for attention — though I hate when people judge on that." Tobin’s voice picked up. "Who _cares_ if someone is doing it for attention?! They obviously need something. They’re obviously feeling something that needs comfort or shock and they’re getting it the only way they can right?" Christen just hmm’d and kept stroking her wrist, a little gentler now. Like it might still hurt all these years later.

"And as I clutched it to my chest I just felt… release. Like I’d had all this emotion, and I’d done something with it, and now it was done. I’d replaced it. And the pulsing was this easy distraction. It felt so _good_. Because it was so _easy_ in comparison you know?"

"So, I did that for a while but my mom noticed one day and asked about it. I told her it was from making macaroni and that I spilled the water on me. But after that I knew I had to be more careful. So, that’s when I started cutting. Because I could hide it better. Put it under something so no one would see. Like Mal."

"How long?"

"… About 4 years. Regularly at least. I got to this point where I always had a razor hidden somewhere. Tucked in soccer bags. Wrapped in tissue in my pocket. I got so good at hiding it that I could even do it in class, under my desk, and no one would notice. I kept wads of toilet paper in my pockets so I could sneak it between the cut and the waistband of my jeans till I got home and could take care of them properly."

Tobin shuddered slightly, eyes clenching briefly like a flinch. "I remember my first U-18 where I had to fly to get to the tournament. I couldn’t bring a blade through security, and I almost had a _panic attack_ at the gate. Just because I knew I wouldn’t have any way to cut for hours."

"It’s not even that I would do it constantly. It became this… token. Like it just represented this escape even if I was only holding it." She wrenched her hand from Christen’s, rubbing the heels of her palms to her eyes aggressively. "It was like a goddamn teddy bear. Fucking pathetic."

"Hey, Tobin, no. Don’t say that." Christen was spinning around between Tobin’s legs, knees pulled to her chest as she faced the flushing midfielder. "You were hurting. Don’t mock yourself for that."

Tobin knew her eyes were red. She wasn’t crying, but they were burning and she could feel a headache forming behind her forehead. She wrenched her hands through her hair but it messed up her ponytail and she pulled out the band with a huff.

Christen scooted forward, crisscross style, knees snuck in the triangles of Tobin’s still-bent legs.

"Don’t put something on yourself that you would never want for someone else. Didn’t you tell Mal—"

"Well, she _shouldn’t_ be ashamed!" Tobin snapped.

"And you _should?!"_ Pink lips snapped right back.

Tobin looked away stubbornly, teeth gritting so hard she could hear it.

"No… I know. It’s just… I hate that I got that far, you know? I hate that I … that I loved it, Chris. It was my most precious thing. My… safe place, really."

"But you stopped."

Tobin sighed.

"Yeah, I got to college and I knew I couldn’t keep it up much longer. Too many girls sharing showers in locker rooms. Too many risks. People who could take away my scholarship if they found out." Her face darkened. "And we know there’s no way I would have been there without soccer."

Christen’s lower lip pouted slightly, pulling Tobin’s hand into her lap again.

"So I stopped. And a few months later I told the free counselor at CAPS. We met for about a semester. She’s the one who told me what I told Mal."

"She sounds smart."

"Yeah…"

Tobin placed both hands in Christen’s. Messed with her fingers a little bit, just looking for something to do.

"It’s happened a few times since then. But nothing like before."

A dark head tipped slightly. "…When was the last time?"

Tobin’s throat was dry and swallowing hurt a little, like when you have a long practice and didn’t hydrate enough the day before.

"About 8 months ago."

"Tobin!"

"It’s fine. You don’t have to worry. It had been, like, two years before that anyway."

"But did seeing Mal make it worse? Should I keep her from talking about it with you? Tobin, I don’t want—"

" _Chris._ It’s fine. That was the last time."

"How do you know?!"

" _Because."_

Tobin tried to pull her voice into a calmer register.

"Because. It didn’t work. It didn’t … It didn’t fix anything. I could tell. It had… lost its magic or something."

"Tobin…"

Tobin gripped the hands in hers, squeezing slightly until Christen could tell she was being serious.

"It’s a good thing, Chris. I’ve grown up. It was always just a substitute. Now I’ve got friends I actually tell things to; Allie. Alex. I’ve learned what makes me happy and lets me breath. Actually talking to them. Or Surfing. Painting. Things that make me attach, not detach. I grew up and I realized all I was doing was putting another hurt on top. It wasn’t fixing anything, not really. Just hiding it. And I know it now. It doesn’t work anymore. Not even if I wanted it to," she muttered a little bitterly.

Christen’s mouth was still twisting, hand slowly plucking at each of Tobin’s fingers in turn. Clearly trying to figure out how to say something.

"What?"

The forward looked up, hair a glistening dark halo of curls around her head.

"…Can I see?"

Christen reached out, smoothing a thumb across the sudden furrows in Tobin’s brows, and the brunette went momentarily crosseyed as she tracked the digit’s approach.

"Please?"

Tobin sighed — "Scooch out a bit" — shoving at the woman’s knees.

Christen used her hands to scoot backwards, making space for Tobin to slide down against the headboard a little.

Tobin hooked her thumbs in her shorts and boxers, lifting slightly to pull them low across her hipbones, the slightest bit of hair peeking up from the band in the middle and she blushed but Christen didn’t seem to share her embarrassment. Instead, she was resting on her knees and leaning over a bit to look at the mess of white lines crisscrossing over Tobin’s hips. The green eyes were hidden as her mass of hair fell forward, brushing Tobin’s stomach at the tips, and she wondered what those eyes were saying as fingertips traced across the expanse, light as a whisper. _Rose_.

Then Christen was pushing backwards again but her thumb was firmly placed as she knelt down a little awkwardly and — Tobin froze — gentle lips brushed once, twice onto the lightly raised lines.

Tobin was barely breathing, those lips coming dangerously close to the strings of her shorts as Christen leaned to the other side next, repeating the process on the matching marks.

She leaned back up, hands firmly on her knees. "Are there any more?"

Tobin stared at the woman, unsure how exactly she was supposed to handle this moment.

" _Was there anywhere else, Tobin?_ "

And with another dry and choking swallow, Tobin tucked her left hand above her head, using the right to lift up her shirt from her left side, fumbling to grab the edge of her sports bra too, tight along the slant of her ribcage at the side, pulling it up a few inches.

Christen craned around to look; stroking her thumb once again, leaving it there on the end of a stripe of white scars so thin as to have no raised edges at all, hand resting around the curve of bones to her back as she pressed lightly. And then she brought her lips right up against the side of her thumb, tilted forward, and set them carefully but firm against the lines, pulling back to nudge her forehead into Tobin’s clenched hand, just for a second, before returning to her kneel between the frozen midfielder’s legs. Tobin let her shirt drop, heart seizing every few beats in her chest. 

"You are so worthwhile, Tobin. You are _so_ worthy of family, and comfort, and love. And _any_ time you think otherwise you come to me ok?" Tobin watched those heavy lashes tremble with emotion. "You come to me and _I_ will remind you of just how much you mean to this world, ok?"

Tobin nodded.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

And with a satisfied jerk of her head Christen fell onto her side on the bed, kicking a bit to get the blankets down before pulling them back up over her body. Tobin was just shifting to go to her own when Christen grabbed her wrist. "Where do you think you’re going? Lay down right here because I’m going to hold you now. And don’t you dare let yourself feel embarrassed because you deserve friends to cuddle with anytime you want." Tobin felt a little grin sneak onto her lips. Christen responded in kind — " _Now_ , Tobin."

So she obeyed, shuffling around the blankets till she could sneak her feet in, flicking the light, and scooching down until her back was lined up a few inches from Christen’s front, a strong arm wrapping around her waist and pulling until there was no space left anymore. Tobin felt herself smiling in the dark, adjusting slightly till she was comfortable. This was... new. She'd never really done this before - like, _ever_ \- but she'd spent weeks with her arms around the woman behind her and that seemed to make it less strange. Tobin decided not to overthink it, and tugged Christen's wrist up to her chest where she tucked it underneath the slope of her body. She could feel Christen adjusting for the change, swiping her mess of curls out of her face as she snuck a cold nose against the back of Tobin’s neck.

"Tobin, before, when you were talking about your friends. Allie. Alex…"

"Yeah?"

"…Do I make you happy?"

Tobin grinned wider.

"Yeah, Chris. You do."

The woman sniffed daintily. "Good."

Tobin chuckled, tracing her hand up Christen’s forearm lightly.

The mattress shifted as the forward adjusted slightly, elbow shifting against Tobin's side until it could settle comfortably again as the woman let out an exhale dripping with sleep.

Tobin tried to settle in too. 

She tried to breathe in slowly and trick her body into rest. 

She tried to imagine someplace warm and sandy and tropical. 

Her eyes popped open.

She wasn’t tired at _all_.

"…Chris?"

A nose nudged her neck again, the soft baby hairs there tickling lightly as the woman breathed and smiled.

"I’m not sleepy."

"That sounds like a you problem."

"Chrissss."

A larger sigh this time, hot and warm down the neck of Tobin’s shirt, but not unkind. She could hear the hint of humor in it.

" _Fine_. What do you want to talk about."

Tobin stroked the soft arm again, feeling the hair part gently as each fingertip slipped by. Christen was always so _soft._ She adjusted her feet so she could pull her body forward a bit, just enough to spin and be able to face the woman behind her. It was dark in the room, but there was enough light sneaking through the blinds that she could make out the shape of the forward’s face, light whispering around the lines of her features in soft grays.

Christen booped her nose.

_"Hey!"_

"Well, don’t be so cute! What’s going on in that head of yours, buttercup?

"That’s not how it goes. You’re supposed to say 'what’s up, buttercup'."

She couldn’t see it clearly but she’s pretty sure Christen rolled her eyes. She’d been too distracted by the suddenly visible sheen of Christen’s smiling teeth.

"…I want to know why this is so hard for you."

Tobin had read an article once about the difference between men and women, and how men can only keep track of one conversation at a time but women can hold threads of _dozens_ and pick up right where they left off with basically no cues. It was one of the reasons that men and women had so much trouble communicating. Because a woman says "did you get the thing?" and the dude is like " _what thing?_ We were talking about taxes" and the woman is talking about the balsamic vinegar she wanted you to pick up yesterday from the store. But women in conversation can pick up a thread from hours, even days ago and know exactly where they are.

Christen was all woman.

"You haven’t had enough of tragic and painful histories this evening?"

"Well, we only talked about me."

Christen grazed a hand briefly over Tobin’s cheek, so quickly she thought she might have imagined it.

"There’s nothing wrong with spending a night on _you_ , Tobin."

"No, I know. I just want to know you too. I want to understand."

Christen sighed, falling onto her back. Tobin found herself missing the warm breath on her neck.

"Are you sure? We don’t have to do this tonight. It’s a bit of a tale."

"There’s not a game for two days. I _want_ to stay up late sharing our tragic and painful histories!" She felt a pang of doubt strike her suddenly. "But only if you want to! Shit. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to. We can just go back to sleep —"

A hand reaches out blindly, patting Tobin’s arm with a couple gentle raps.

"It’s ok, Tobin. God knows you deserve to know some about this, you’ve been stuck with it for weeks now."

"Chris, stop! You don’t owe me anything. I shouldn’t have asked. I should have—"

Christen laughed. "Tobin, I literally just asked you about your stuff. It’s ok."

Tobin wasn’t sure about that. Seriously, she should have been more sensitive and—

"I want to tell you. Let me tell you."

Tobin’s mouth twisted up more…

" _Stop._ I trust you. I want this. Let me tell you."

And as Christen turned back on her side, Tobin settled into it, curling up for the story. "Ok. I’m ready." The probably eight seconds of silence felt like a hundred. "…Chris?"

"Sorry, just trying to figure out where to start. I haven’t had to tell it in a while. Um… ok. So. Let me give just a little bit of context to start, I guess. I didn’t grow up in a religious home really, not like you. It was more a mishmash. Like, some Christian influence, but also some Eastern mysticism elements, a dash of my parents’ cultural superstitions, and then what could probably just be called a California hippie vibe if I’m honest. We talked a lot about morals, and believe in something after death, maybe energy more, or whatever it is you _expect_ to see, I don’t know. But because of that, I didn’t grow up with restraints on sexuality like so many did. But I did grow up with a really spiritual sense of the body and intimacy, and how sex played into that. My parents always wanted my sisters and me to feel like we had power over our bodies, and I know at least Tyler went on birth control in high school and my mom drove her there herself with a smile. But we also were raised to believe that sex was this… beautiful and sort of mystic thing. Like, two souls touching you know? And I thought that was _breathtaking._ Like. So, so beautiful."

"So, without even meaning to, I just kept… saving it. Like, any time I’d get anywhere with a guy, or boyfriend or whatever, it was just so _juvenile._ Like, his basement couch after a party. Or his bed while his parents were out and his socks were strewn all over the place. It never felt special enough. Not in a romantic way, but in an intimacy way, you know? I mean, I _loved_ touching. The feeling of someone’s skin. Someone’s lips. I liked the physical side of it. But there was never enough emotion in it to make me want to embrace it all quite yet. And I was busy with soccer so it wasn’t like I had that much time to hang out with guys anyway. So all of a sudden I found myself in high school and I’d never really done anything beyond some — delicious, mind you— make-outs. Some petting, sure. Benny Sanchez likes to put his head under my shirt, push my bra up, and suck my nipples for like, _hours_ , and I thought my pelvis was going to explode out of my body it felt so good. There were no hangups about if it was bad or not. But I also didn’t have any hangups about waiting. I was waiting for the right person. The right soul, honestly."

"And then I met him. Well, Kelley did actually. Just looking at him, you could write him off as a surfer dude. Built, and tawny and lovely, but not necessarily the guy you expect to want to talk about the universe with you, and 'did souls reincarnate?', and all those other things I wanted to connect with someone on. But he was all of it. Beautiful, and thoughtful and deep. Kelley met him at an ice cream shop on the beach our second semester - he was working there to save money for a trip to Nepal. He asked for her number but she told me later that she could tell already that we would be perfect together. So she said "no, but I have a friend that I think you need to meet." She hooked us up for dinner that night, and it clicked instantly. He wasn’t in college, but it wasn’t because he wasn’t smart enough, or driven. He just had different priorities, you know? And the thing was, he felt the same way about intimacy. He thought it was something that should belong only to your soulmate, and he told me by our second date, he could tell in his spirit that it was me."

"Things moved quickly from there and instead of leaving for Nepal that summer, he ended up staying. He met my family. My dad didn’t really like him at first. Thought he’d distract me, he said. But Carson could win anyone over in time, and by Fall Break of my sophomore year, we were talking about getting married."

"I get that that sounds crazy. I do. But in the moment… it just made so much sense. Like, we were made for each other, and why wait? We planned this little ceremony on the beach for winter break, mostly just our families, and a few close friends. Kelley insisted on being my maid of honor because she said the whole thing would have never happened without her. And once we knew that was going to happen, it felt obvious that we would wait until our wedding night. This cosmic meeting of our spoken commitment to one another and giving our bodies too."

"And then it was that night, and we were in this little rented bungalow, with candles, and the smell of freesia and you could hear the waves and it all felt so good."

"…Until it didn’t."

Christen let out a long and ragged sigh.

"Have you heard of Vestibulodynia?"

"Uh… no, no I haven’t."

"Yeah, I hadn’t either. It’s this… issue. More common than you think, honestly. Most women don’t find out they have it until they try to have sex. It’s something wrong with your muscles and the nerves down there. Right on the inside of your entrance. Basically, your pelvic muscles are tight like… _all_ the time. And there are too many nerve fibers in the skin. Way too many."

"Growing up, I hated tampons. Never figured out how to use them. They always made me uncomfortable. Tyler literally sat in front of me on the bathroom floor once, trying to show me how to do it so I could follow along at the same time. Said I just had to find the right angle. But I never could. I thought I just didn’t like them."

"But basically, what it is is your body has these… insane pain receptors and any pressure against your vaginal canal feels like… fuck," — Christen grips her hands in her hair, curls spilling out between the digits—"it feels like you’re _dying._ Like someone has stuck a knife in you and you’ll do anything to get it out, just to stop the pain."

"It’s so insane to think about, but both of us were virgins. We had no idea what was normal, so we thought maybe I was just tight, or we were doing it wrong or something. We spent the next couple of weeks trying to make it work. Hours of foreplay. Meditation. Oil diffusers with relaxing scents. Nothing. So we went to the doctor, and the first one didn’t get it. Just kept asking if I had trauma, or religious hangups. He even made Carson leave the room and then just asked if it was possible I was a lesbian. It was really rude, honestly. He didn’t believe it could hurt like I said it did. But then we went to a specialist and she had seen it before. Figured it out in the first appointment from one physical exam."

"So then we tried all of the official treatments. Pelvic floor exercises. Steroid injections. Nerve blocks. It was insane. There’s this physical therapy actually, with dilators, that you’re supposed to use to train your body to stretch. It starts with one as small as a tampon, and then builds up eventually to typical male size, and you’re supposed to do it multiple times a day, increasing as you can. But even after doing it for weeks I couldn’t make it past the first one without crying from the pain. "

"Finally, it’d been months and she said that the only option left that we hadn’t tried was surgery. They … they try to cut out the muscle basically. Like this U of the muscle from the — like." She huffed from her nose, clearly struggling for the right words. She held up her hand in a circle: "It’s like a ring right? And you know it has a channel in the middle but it’s," she pulled her hand together, "tight like a fist, clenched shut. But a fist that," she shuddered, "… _screams_ anytime it is touched. And the surgery cuts out as much as it can to try to break it open, basically?" her fist fell back to the mattress.

"It works most of the time but… but the complications, even if rare, are _terrible,_ Tobin. What they’re cutting out is part of the same muscle system used for urination, orgasm, childbirth. And if they cut off just a bit too much, just a fraction, I could lose the ability to control my bladder at all. Can you imagine? How could I ever play soccer? How could I have a normal life at all?! I’d essentially need a permanent catheter! It just... it wasn’t worth it. I couldn’t imagine my life without something as basic as that."

"Of course not," Tobin exhaled in a lilting breath. "That’s so scary, Christen. There are other ways to experience sex, even without …" (she seemed to stumble on the word) "penetration."

"Right! But, also … only _kind of_ , right? Because a woman can come in different ways. But a guy? To really tell a guy that he can never … with his wife?"

"There are —" Tobin flushed, grateful for the curtain of darkness. "… Hands. Grinding. Oral. There’s just. There’s still options. Yes, it’s not optimal but it’s possible."

"It is. And we were trying that. Sort of. Like, we’d gone down on each other that first night. I mean, he came. And then he’d focused on my clit, mostly, or maybe we would have figured it out even sooner. But it worked. And so I tried to help him. To make him feel good any way I could. I studied how to do it right. How to make it feel the best. Even how to deep throat, though when we tried he… kept it in too long, sort of, and I threw up so we had to stop. But he eventually became obsessed with wanting this one thing. And in some ways, who could blame him, right?"

Tobin wasn’t sure how she felt about that, a heating simmer and a warning in her gut.

"And he would just get so _mad_. So mad at things not working. And he got to the point where he basically didn’t want to touch _me_ because I couldn’t give him that. Or — I mean," and at that, Christen shook her head slightly, then blinked long under a furrowed brow, "… share that, I guess. And everything else became these pale substitutes that he wanted nothing to do with."

"At that point, it was like we barely got along at all. I was struggling in school. I was depressed. He was cited multiple times at work for his temper. My family knew we were having issues but I was so _embarrassed_ that something so basic was impossible for me; that I had failed at something that humans have done forever. So, I only told them we were struggling to connect sexually."

Christen let out a little shaky breath. An inhale that sounded more like the kind you have after running a mile than laying in bed for the last two hours.

"One night… it was the end of May I think. Graduation parties for girls on the soccer team, that sort of thing. And I was coming back from one, and when I got back, I could tell he’d had a few beers. I mean, I had as well, but he wasn’t himself. And he told me I needed to do the surgery, and I was telling him that I couldn’t. That I wouldn’t. And maybe it was the alcohol. I don’t know. I should have been kinder, I knew he was struggling. But I was just so tired, so frustrated that it felt like we’d tried everything and nothing worked, that I let myself get angry back. Let myself yell. Tell him he didn’t get it. He didn’t get what it would cost. That if he loved me, he’d let it go."

With the little shine of moonlight gleaming at the edges of her profile, Tobin could see Christen’s abdomen trembling slightly. Christen lifted a hand after a moment. Pressed it low across her stomach.

"He… flipped out. Told me if I loved _him_ I would do it. That I didn’t understand _his_ cost. And then I was against the wall somehow. I don’t even know when it happened. But he was drunk and he started… taking my clothes off. And at first I was just shocked, but then I tried to slap his hands away and he… slammed me against the wall. My head hit it really hard. I don’t know if he meant it, but it did. And things were spinning and then I was on the floor. And he was on top of me and it was—" She inhaled in a tiny gasp that had Tobin flinch. "It was _excruciating._ It was the worst thing I had ever felt in my life. Worse than before because it didn’t stop. He kept _going_ and _going_ and _going._ I think I was screaming. I don’t know. I couldn’t even see. Everything was white, and I was thrashing, but he was just so much bigger than me, Tobin. And I’d always liked that fact before, but this time — I couldn’t _do_ anything." Tobin could hear a little dimpling thud against the sheet. Another.

"I didn’t know it, but I’d left this — it was a photo frame, with a picture of me and some girls on the team. A senior had given it to me as a gift at the party so I could remember her or something. And I had left it in the floorboard of Kelley’s car. She had turned around when she got to her place so she could bring it back, which is kismet, because it’s not like it was urgent or anything. But she did. And she’d had a key from the start so she was just going to drop it off."

"…Apparently she could hear me when she came to the door. I found out later that she got him off of me." Christen let out a watery snuffle. "All 120 pounds of her, soaking wet, she did it. And took something to his head pretty damn hard. I don’t know. I haven’t asked what honestly. But when the police finally got there, he was bleeding at the temple on the floor across the room, and she had dragged me against the back wall. Had her body arched over me, between us, just in case he tried to come back again."

Christen was clearly crying by now, but her hands stayed lightly by her sides, tears dripping unrestrained into the hair above her ears.

"She was always such a protector. So _fearless_ for such a tiny girl. On the field and off."

Tobin reached out a hand, but _god,_ how do you know if you can touch someone in this moment? Would she flinch? Was it too much? Tobin hovered 6 inches away.

"… You can come over here if you like," Chris let out just a hair above whisper, voice shaky in the dark. Tobin was there in an instant, slipping beneath Christen’s momentarily lofted arm, and snugging in to lay full against her side. Christen’s arm lowered carefully to curve around her back.

"They asked if I wanted a rape kit at the hospital but I… I just couldn’t do it. He was my _husband._ And maybe I’d do things differently now but I was so confused. So conflicted and hurt. Not to mention concussed. So they cleaned me up. There were… stitches first. Lots of bruising all over my body. Abrasions. And I didn’t even remember it happening, but at some point he’d… he’d — switched — and I was bleeding. It was like everything down there was just _bleeding._ And then Kelley took me home to her place. I filed for a divorce the next week. He signed the papers when they were delivered. We didn’t own anything really, so we never had to meet to negotiate splitting anything. And Carson moved out of town that weekend. I never even saw him again. We both just… let it go."

"I spent the summer hiding from everyone. I don’t know if I would have ate. Would have showered, even, if Kelley wasn’t forcing me to every step of the way. She was so _good_ to me. Such a perfect, faithful friend. She was the only good thing in my life that summer. But I couldn’t see anything _._ Couldn’t see that she was hurting too _._ It was all so grey. Everything. Every feeling. I was so desperate for any change; anything to get out of my head. So I applied to a winter quarter abroad for the next semester without telling her. Scraped by with my grades. Soccer… I was performing fine, though I know people could tell something was off. I was anxious all the time. I cried before every game. In the games sometimes."

"After basically being unavailable for months to my family — just said we were too busy, not home — I told them right before the winter started. On the phone. I couldn’t face my dad. Couldn’t see his face when I told them." She sniffed again. Huffed a little in derision. "So I was a coward."

"Chris…"

"No, I _WAS._ I told them, I texted Kelley at the _airport_ that I was leaving, and then I caught a plane to Madrid that night. I was there for three months taking Spanish classes, and teaching kindergarten English. I didn’t answer a single text. Just used those months to pack all of it up in this little box in the back of my mind. And then I came back. And that’s … that essentially."

The tears were gone now, but Tobin was sure Christen could feel them on her face where they’d dried. She remembered the feeling from when she was a kid; could almost feel it in sympathy. Long sticky tracks of them, surely, and she could see one or two of them still glistening dully from her cheek beneath the shades of gray painting out the room.

"I developed a severe trauma response to anything having to do with… all of that. I hid it until I couldn’t anymore with U.S. Soccer. And I haven’t been in a serious relationship since. Haven’t been able to be touched like _that_. Haven’t even kissed. So… here we are."

Tobin waited, wondering if there was any more, but Christen just laid there underneath her breathing.

"When I first heard about your — well, trouble, I guess … I was shocked. Shocked that you were struggling with that." Tobin scratched her hand light where it rested on the stomach of Christen’s shirt. "…You’ve always been so …physical? I mean, like, affectionate, you know? One of the most on the team."

"I like touching my friends. I like being close to them. I’ve always been that way."

"It was one of the first things I noticed about you actually, at that first camp. Because it was so different from me, I guess. I’d known women on that team for years, and then you come in and in one camp you’re playing with Julie’s hair at breakfast, or letting Whitney sit in your lap when the van to the airport didn’t have enough seats."

Christen shrugged, her sleep shirt catching around her shoulders against the bed. Tobin lightly tugged it back down at the hem for her.

"I just… I never would have known. To ask about your romantic relationships. To see that you were hurting. And I guess it didn’t have to be me. But I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone to — well, I’m sorry I didn’t see that you were struggling."

"I didn’t let anyone see, Tobin. You don’t need to feel bad."

"But you _did_. You told us about having a husband at camp. And the kissing thing, too. When Megan was teasing you —" Tobin pulled her hand from Christen’s stomach, scrubbing it against her own face in distress. "—and we just let her _do it_! We all knew we’d hate to be in the same position but we let her do it anyway. And even after Ireland. I … I wanted to text, Christen. I did. But I let myself get all caught in my head and…"

Christen sighed.

"Tobin."

She turned so she could face the midfielder, pulling her knees up so she could wrap her arms around her thighs. They were so close that Christen’s shins pressed from Tobin’s abdomen to her knees.

"We — " Tobin revised, placing a hand on the woman’s sheet covered knee. " _I_ was a bad friend. A bad teammate."

Christen was silent, though Tobin could see her chest rising softly from her breaths. It took her long seconds to look up and meet her eyes. They were open and terrifyingly honest.

Christen shrugged her shoulder lightly; dropped it down again. "Then be a better one."

Tobin’s breath escaped her in a sudden rush.

_OH._

She’d expected protests — those polite " _of course not!"_ s of the American WASP, obsessed with being _kind_. She hadn’t wanted it — too aware of it being a lie — but, had expected it all the same.

Christen was so unlike anyone she’d ever known before. So unafraid of the truth.

Tobin found she liked this kind of forgiveness better. Not the forgiveness of mutually pretending there was no offense when in reality it always sat low and bitter in your gut; either shriveling away in time — or — growing a tangled nest of thorns that finally choked out the goodness of what you had together.

...But _this —_ the forgiveness of stating the truth, admitting a wrong, but allowing someone the dignity of a chance to change — offering your _belief_ that they could. It tasted better. It tasted like fresh air. It was something that could grow flowers.

Tobin nodded. "Ok."

* * *

**3/9/16  
 **Boca Raton, Florida  
** **She Believes Cup, Game #3  
 **US v Germany (2-1)  
 **Goals: Morgan, Mewis********

After the winner’s ceremony, press circuit, and some quick showers, the ladies — sans the sole under-21er ( _"Chris, please?!" "Go to bed baby, you’ll have years to do this when you’re older," Christen dropped with a kiss to her forehead)_ — were racing to change into whatever semi-passable bar clothes they had.

"We don’t have another game for a month, Ali!" The blonde sidled up to her girlfriend, grabbing the loops of her dark black skinny jeans and pulling her hips close. "Wanna pretend to be spring breakers and get smashed?"

"Keep it in your pants, Ash. Ali already agreed to DD!"

"We’re walking, Pinoe."

"Still need someone to keep the drunkies in line."

Ashlyn pouted as Ali pressed a kiss to her cheek with a laugh. "Sorry, baby. But I promised Becky I’d take her spot as captain for the night." She leaned in to whisper something in the keeper’s ear that engendered a smirk a _smidge_ too quickly for Tobin’s liking; catching only the word "captain" again and something about "packing" … though she didn’t know why that would be sexy. Living out of suitcases was literally part of their job.

Christen appeared in a high-waisted black flowing skirt paired with a tight emerald crop top that Tobin decided made her eyes glow especially verdant. A flash of silver hoops highlighed the arch of her neck.

"Oh thank God. I think they were talking about some type of kinky sex and I haven’t had a single beer yet. _Save me_."

Christen linked her arm into Tobin’s like it belonged there, lips pressing right up against her ear — " _Tobin, you literally hold me every night as I touch myself._ "

Oh God.

Oh God, her face was on fire. It was on literal fire, and no, don’t you dare bring up the definition of literal because, _Christ._

 _"CHRISTEN,"_ she hissed as the woman threw back her head with a laugh.

Kling materialized at the forward’s elbow. "What’s so funny?"

" _Nothing!"_ Tobin squeaked, _"Jesus, how do you_ _do_ _that."_ Meghan stared at the pair skeptically.

"…Okayyyy then."She flung her finger up in a circle. "Let’s go, bitches!"

As the cleaned up and raring-to-go pack of women hit the street, Christen had withdrawn her arm in a hair-pinned turn to wide-eyed innocent, only a hint of her salacious whisperings lingering in the quirk of a corner of her mouth. "Do you mind texting Mal? I think she’s feeling left out and could use a good-night from her favorite midfielder."

"Huh?" Tobin was still processing the turn. "Oh, yeah, I already did. I mean, it sucks to be the only one not allowed to come. I actually gave her the key to our room so she could hang out with us when we get back. She’ll probably fall asleep but it felt right anyway. I hope that’s ok."

Christen beamed at her. "Tobin, you’re so _smart_! That’s perfect." Tobin flushed under the praise, taking a moment to tuck her tank top into her jeans until her face cooled down.

"Cool."

A short walk later, the women arrived at what actually seemed like a pretty fun bar. There was a small but active dance floor, pool against the back wall, and a dart board that Kling raced to like a magnet. (" _Someone stand in front of the board. I know how to do that circus knife thing with these.")_

Tobin started at the bar. A beer was always a safe bet. Something to hold on to and nurse as you learned an environment.

3 beers later, she was indeed much more comfortable with the environment. And her boundaries.

"Not to sound ungrateful, but why are you hugging me, Heath? Because other than goal celebrations, I’m pretty sure this is a first."

Tobin withdrew, adjusting her snapback instinctually in social angst.

She’d planned to do this; needed to express her thanks somehow and Christen’s easy affection had inspired her, but now that the moment had come she felt silly. "Uh, Chris told me about Carson."

Slides tripping on the sticky floor, she was suddenly mid-drag towards the bathrooms, stopping only when they got to the hallway off the side near the back exit. Kelley opened her mouth, pausing as a couple who had clearly just had sex in the alley came giggling past. Tobin watched them till they turned, Kelley’s arms crossed tight against her chest when her eyes flicked back.

"She… she _told you_ about him?" Kelley hissed. "She never tells anyone about him!"

"Well… yeah… I mean, she did. Last night."

Kelley looked like she couldn’t decide whether to be angry or relieved. After a few flickers of both, she settled on concerned.

"Then why — why did you hug _me_?"

Tobin shook her head a little bit. _Wasn’t it obvious?_ "Kelley, you basically saved her life. And then you took care of her. You were there through everything making sure she could eventually be ok. And I just… I wanted to thank you… for that. You — I was thankful to hear you did that for her."

Kelley looked down at her shoes, nudging at a piece of gum stuck to the floor. "Did she… say anything about me? About —"

"There you are my hustlahs!" A drunk Ashlyn was leading an exasperated but amiable Ali down the hallway towards them. "I’ve been looking for you two all …" she looked down at her fingers like she was counting. "…All of the past 20 minutes! I want to play darts. Do you want to play darts, Toby?"

"I’m not sure darts are the best thing right now, sweetie" Ali snickered.

"But I’m going to beat Toby!"

"How about pool, Ashlyn?"

Ali looked like she wanted to give Tobin an award.

"YES. Pool. I will crush you, Toby."

Tobin wasn’t even that good but she was pretty sure her chances were high tonight. But first things first. "Can you just give us a minute?"

Ashlyn hovered there waiting, but Ali glanced back and forth between the two women. At Kelley’s crossed arms.

"Come on, let’s wait for them out there, baby.” The sober woman walked her girlfriend who had started rapping — Tobin could just catch _"_ _This Henny got me oh, it got me sauced — I could never lose what you thought?"_ and laughed—towards the main room. Tobin pulled herself back in.

"What do you mean, Kelley?"

"Did she say anything about" — Christen’s laugh trickled in from the other room and both heads popped up — "… you know what, it doesn’t matter." The freckled woman pushed past the brunette towards the sound of the dance floor, but Tobin grabbed the back of her shirt, waiting till those blue eyes swung to meet hers one more time.

"She loves you, Kelley. There was no one else she would have wanted with her back then. You did everything right."

Kelley peers at her face like it’s a math problem she’s trying to solve. But they’ve both been drinking, and Tobin doesn’t know what she’s looking for anyway. Then arms are wrapping around her in the quickest hug of her life — and that’s saying something because she’s hugged her mother.

"Thanks for telling me, Tobin. I’ve glad she’s got you around too."

And with a completely unnecessary fist pound that both quickly regret, they wander back in to the bar.

Good timing because it looks like it might be time to leave.

" _This bitch empty_. YEET!"

"ASHLYN."

"Do it for the Vine!"

"NOT HELPFUL, ALLIE."

With all the grace of a herd of cats, Ali, a surprisingly sober Julie, and a yawning Carli maneuvered the group of women outside into the cool March night.

Megan hopped immediately on Ashlyn’s back, almost toppling the keeper onto the sidewalk before knocking into Lindsey instead, the girl’s last few sips of beer spilling out of the clinking spin of a dropped bottle.

"MEGAN, WHY!?"

Alex snorted near Tobin because apparently everyone was horrible at keeping themselves from getting sloppy drunk. She told Tobin as much; they were 'the only ones with their heads on straight' she insisted while slowly veering left into a parked car.

Christen came up and slipped her arm back in to Tobin’s, breath coming out in little whiskey puffs as she tucked her chin into her collar, smiling.

"I think they had a good night."

A stumbling, zig-zagging mess started moving slowly up the sidewalk in front of them, the two linked women following along slowly to guard the rear exit.

Tobin snorted. "I would say so."

The arm tugged again at her own, Christen’s nose wrinkling adorably. "You didn’t dance with me."

It was cold. That’s why there was a sudden rose in her cheeks. In the thirties. Really.

"Next time."

"Promise?"

"I’ll write it in my planner tonight," Tobin lifted an index finger, traced it in the air — “‘Dance with Christen the next time we win a tournament.’”

The nose wrinkled up again right as a passing car’s headlights scattered perfectly in the rain soaked city street; for a moment, Tobin thought she could count every eyelash around the smile-squished luminescence of pale green eyes.

"In August. For Rio."

Tobin nodded. "I’ll save you a dance. In Rio."

Christen glanced ahead. "Alright, let’s go help these jokers. Carli looks like she’s about to have a stroke."

Christen slipped her arm away, rubbing her hands suddenly and vigorous in front of her mouth before jogging to grab Megan’s other arm; Carli looked like she might cry in thanks from the other side.

Tobin adjusted her snapback and paused for a moment, catching the moon in the gap between two buildings.

" _Rio."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashlyn: Becky gave me one of those "I hope you get better soon" cards.  
> Ali: awwww, that’s so sweet.  
> Ashlyn: But I’m not sick or anything! She said she just thought I could do better.  
> Ali: …  
> Megan: *snorts*
> 
> Leave a comment: If you could tell Tobin one thing in this story right now, what what you tell her? What about Christen?


	4. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When did you say?"
> 
> "The 16th. You just fly to California with me — on ESPN, of course — hang out, drink some free coffee, eat some free donuts. Watch the photographers work their magic. Tell me my hair looks nice. I don’t know."
> 
> "Your hair always looks nice." I mean, that’s objectively true, right?
> 
> "Then this should be the easiest gig ever. …So you’ll come?"
> 
> Tobin looked up at the woman through her lashes, eyes slipping to the white puff of air wisping from her lips into the night — "Yeah, if you want me there … I’m there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley: Rules are made to be broken.  
> Carli: No, they were made to be followed, Kelley. Nothing is made to be broken.  
> Kelley: Uh, piñatas?!  
> Allie: Glow sticks.  
> Ashlyn: Karate boards.  
> Megan across the room: Spaghetti when you have a really small pot.

**4/6/16  
 **East Hartford, CT  
 **Friendly: US v Colombia (7-0)  
 **Goals: Dunn, Long, Long, Pugh, Lloyd, Heath, Press** ******

That Wednesday was the second time Dr. Heart had shown up at a match to check in on Christen’s progress with Tobin mostly there to nod and say "yup, that’s right, uh huh."

Both times were horrifically awkward, Christen shrinking in on herself in a manner far too reminiscent of January and not their practiced easy presence of the last few months. When they’d left the room Christen’s body was still compacted, bending in the wrong ways to actually take in breath and Tobin knew they needed to get out of the hotel for a while.

With a tug at Christen’s sweatshirt sleeve, she recaptured the woman’s attention.

"Wanna go get coffee somewhere?"

Christen’s exhausted eyes lit up. "Smart, Heath. Let’s do it."

* * *

Tobin stared down the fidgety woman, waiting for her to elaborate.

"It’s just sometimes this all feels so pointless."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, even if I get to the point where I can let someone touch me, I’m still never going to be able to let someone _in_ me. It’s just a medical fact. And how can I ever have a real relationship with a guy when we can never have sex?"

She held up a finger as Tobin opened her mouth — "And I know there are alternatives. But would that really be enough? _Really?_ "

"Lesbians seem to make it fine without normal penis-in-vagina sex."

Christen’s lips pulled into a smirk of a smile. "Oh, Tobin, I think there may be far more of that than you give them credit for."

Latte foam spilled on the table from a jostled cup. "Ok, not what I meant. The point stands. For them it’s one of a whole bunch of things. Many not including penetration at all." Tobin preened inwardly at saying the word without a single stutter this time.

The forward leaned back in her chair and twisted her tea around with the tips of her fingers, just spinning it in circles. "Maybe I need to think about being with women," she chuckled.

Tobin tried to imagine Christen with a woman. _Bodies pressed up against one another. Fingers slipping under shirts. Christen had said she’d liked it when her nip—_ She shook her head. The imaginings left her with a discomforting weight on her chest.

She could feel Christen’s eyes on her. Evaluating. 

"Tell me, Tobin. The rumors about you and Alex. Are they true?"

Tobin shot up with a start. "What?!" She looked around the outdoor patio like she expected someone to pop up from beneath a table. "You’ve heard about that?"

A jaw dropped in shock. "Wait, it’s TRUE!?"

"NO!" A couple patrons were looking and Tobin lowered her voice. "No. It’s … there’s this fan site and they seem to think we’re … _together_ and they keep posting photos and stories and…"

"Yeah, I know Tobs, I’ve seen it." Christen’s face went smug. " _TALEX."_

The brunette fell into a slump again."Nooooooooo, Chris, no!"

"They’re very committed honestly."

The slump couldn’t help but giggle too. "Ug, I know, it’s like every brush of an elbow is a magnet for a camera. ' _Tobin always makes sure she’s the last to touch Alex.'_ Or something like that."

Pearly teeth bit a lip minutely; perched at a cup edge for a sip. "… So you’re saying there’s nothing? …Not even a hint?"

"She’s married, Chris," Tobin shot.

"She wasn’t always," volleyed right back.

Tobin beat her fingers against the table top.

Christen waited.

"…No."

The black woman stared a few more moments, searching her face. Then, seemingly satisfied, she closed her eyes again and smirked. "Too bad, it’d probably be really hot."

Tobin threw a leaf at her head.

"Ok, so not women it seems. Then tell me about you. You’ve unlocked my tragic backstory, but I want to hear your good one. Tell me your … best, most lurid, aggressively heterosexual penis-in-vagina experience?"

_Christen, why?_

"Um, I actually… haven’t. I’ve never had sex."

"Oh!" Christen’s brows leaped in surprise. "Shit, I’m sorry, Tobin. Or not — I’m not saying that’s _sorry_ I’m saying — I mean I’m sorry for asking."

"It’s ok, Chris. I know it’s weird."

Christen went from embarrassed to protective in an instant.

"HEY. Don’t do that. You’re not weird. Everyone has different timelines. Don’t you _ever_ feel embarrassed for the fact that you’ve chosen not to so far."

Size 8.5 of Nike’s Kobe 11 Black Mamba kicked the leg of the table. "…It’s just never really made sense to me, I guess? I keep waiting for it to hit. Like, there he’ll be and BOOM all those scenes in the movies make sense. But it never happened. And I don’t mean it has to be love at first sight. I know that’s not real. But even with guys I’ve dated we never got that far."

"Is it because you’re Christian?" Christen’s chin jut out at Tobin’s backpack. "I see you reading your Bible sometimes in the morning. And even when you don’t, you always have one in your bag."

Tobin grabbed the strap of it reflexively."Sorta. I mean, definitely that’s part of it. I was raised to believe that sex before marriage was a sin. Not that my parents would have kicked me out or anything; we weren’t that intense. But we did acknowledge that was what God wanted. But also, like, if you do it that way it’s for your own good. You’ll have less drama. Less risk. And you’ll never have to compare your spouse to someone else. So, it was sort of a mix of God and wisdom, I guess."

"That makes sense. I mean, I don’t believe it the way you do. That it’s wrong. But I thought it was special, for sure. I told you that."

Tobin nodded.

"Have you done other things? First base? Second?"

"Yeah, I had a boyfriend in high school. Trey. Though we never went past second. And then some experiences in college. A few since."

"Well, let’s do that instead. Tell me about your… juiciest experience." She was smirking again. "Who has made you weak at the knees? Who brought the great Heath into heat?"

Tobin rolled her eyes but couldn’t escape the woman’s contagious enthusiasm. Especially when she winked so poorly yet so proudly.

"Hm…"

It was more fun to draw it out. Tobin tapped her chin with a long pointer finger, head tilted in exaggerated thought as Christen kicked at her leg from under the table with a big grin.

"…That would have to be Danny Collins."

"Ooooooh, Danny. Tell me about _him."_

 _"_ Tall with dangerous eyes. Had a motorcycle. Ponytail and leather jacket."

Christen’s eyes were dinner plates. "Really?"

Tobin giggled. "No! I was just teasing. Danny was sweet. He was this goofy engineer I met in the gym because he played pick up basketball there every week. He was fit, but a nerd, and I liked that he wasn’t as cocky as the other guys. He looked just as good but he cared more about coding and Halo than proving his masculinity."

"He does sound sweet."

"Mostly we just hung out and played video games. But there was this one party. It was at the boy’s soccer house, so our team had to go, and he knew some guys there. We found each other and spent most of the night chatting on sofas and avoiding getting beer dumped on us. Played some beer pong occasionally, that sort of thing."

"And…?"

"…And then he asked if I wanted to dance. We hadn’t ever done anything like that before. Like - we were buds, you know? But I said yes, and then we were on this floor in this _disgusting_ basement but I didn’t even really notice because all of a sudden we were dancing and it was _good."_

Christen’s eyebrows waggled. "Good, eh?"

"Are you going to let me tell the story or not?"

Christen waved her hand, smile lines popping around her eyes.

“So we’re a few songs in and now there is _no_ space left between us. We were," she could feel her cheeks pinking up "grinding, with him behind me at this point. His hands were on my stomach and I could feel _everything._ Or like, everything I was feeling was suddenly pulled together and placed right under his hands, and it was electricity and pulsing, and —“

Her abdomen fluttered in the sudden rush of physical memory.

“And then his hands were on my belt on my jeans, and he pressed his mouth to my ear and asked if it was ok. And at this point, I don’t even know if I can _speak_ I’m so distracted but I nodded and he started taking it off. And I remember that feeling. Of this body pressed up against me in the dark, and heat and music and feeling like no one was looking, and the feeling of these hands against my stomach moving in these little motions to undo it. It wasn’t even the belt really, it was … I don’t know how to explain it. It was the precision of it, that got me. How his fingers had to work at it. It was…"

Tobin’s mouth twisted as heat flamed in her cheeks. _Why did I get hot coffee instead of iced?_

Christen looked scandalized, hands gripping the table as she whispered in an amazed smirk. "Tobin, did he _finger you on a dance floor?_ "

"No. No, I think we both realized that might be too much even though that’s obviously what we were starting. But there were people and that was a bit far. So he left it, and took me over to a wall and leaned against it. And then he walked me up tight against his leg. And that wasn’t as weird because there were people making out all over the place and it was dark and… he pulled me into him and — well, let’s just say it was a very good substitute."

Christen was fanning herself theatrically and Tobin couldn’t help but roll her eyes with a laugh.

" _Tobin Heath._ You ground one out on a guy in a dirty basement."

Tobin sniffed. "Yes I did. And it was delightful. Don’t you dare judge me."

"I’m not judging, I’m impressed! I’ve never done that before, actually."

"What?"

"Had an orgasm from grinding. Sounds good," she laughed.

They settled into what was not an uncomfortable silence, but not a comfortable one either. Somewhere in the middle. Then Christen’s face lit up wickedly.

_Oh no, what now?_

_"_ Hey Tobin _…_ remember that time you thought I was having sex with _MAL?"_

* * *

**4/10/16  
 **Chester, PA  
 **Friendly: US v Colombia (3-0)  
 **Goals: Press, Johnston, Johnston  
 **Note: Pugh plays her first 90!**********

It’s their last night for two months practically, and Tobin is dreading goodbye.

What if they get back and it’s strange again? What if Christen realizes that Tobin is actually awkward and sexually inept, and that someone like Alex, or Carli, or Julie would be way better suited for this?

Honestly, if she really wanted Chris to get better she should suggest it anyway, right? Christen had walked away from Dr. Heart’s last check-in so _discouraged_. She’d laughed it off and changed topics but Tobin could tell. Christen deserved someone who could really talk it out. Who could push her when she needed, or tell when she didn’t. Someone who knew what sex could be. And that just wasn’t her. Had never been her. Tobin barely touched people _normally_ let alone sexually. She’d touched more people in the last 4 months than the last 4 _years_ probably, if you’re not counting on the pitch.

So when Christen complained that her back was hurting and proposed a nighttime walk instead of hanging in their room, Tobin felt like this could be it. The guillotine march of this strange little world that had become her normal so fast.

She should tell her to choose someone else.

She was going to tell her to choose someone else.

"Chris—" "Tobin—"

Yikes _._

"You—""Go ahea—"

Christen laughed loudly at the mishap but Tobin could sense a strange and yellow tinge of anxiety in the note.

"You go first, Chris."

"Oh, ok. Yeah… I uh, well I had something I wanted to ask you…"

_This is it. She’s going to ask me to room with someone else from now on._

"What are you doing next week… the 16th specifically?"

_Huh?_

"Uh, I don’t know, I’ll be in Portland, I guess? There’s a league game two days after that but that’s it."

Christen _hmm’_ d as they eyed the park across the street, waiting for the "walk" signal to flash.

 _"Wait…_ _Wait… Wait."_

_"The walk signal is on."_

_"_ You know, there’s a study that says these audible alerts are actually more dangerous for blind people because it only tells you that you are _supposed_ to be able to walk; not if the road is actually clear. And it can obscure the noise of oncoming traffic that they actually are used to listening for."

_Double huh._

"Oh… that sucks." Tobin scratched her neck.

"Yeah."

…

"I got asked to be in the ESPN Body Issue shoot."

_The curveballs in this conversation, dude._

"Christen! That’s incredible. Wow."

The night was cold and the blushing woman tugged her collar up to her ears. "Thanks. They asked about a month ago but they called today again to remind me of the details."

"There have been some incredible athletes in that edition over the years. Really famous ones too... Wait, do you think there’s a club? Like, will you get special access into all the fancy NFL and MBA celebrations now? Better buy some new party clothes," Tobin winked.

"Ha, good question. I’ll have to ask Abby."

Tobin suddenly stopped in her tracks and let out a guffaw, swinging around to stare at the forward.

"DUDE. You’re going to be naked. Like… _nude_."

Christen’s nose ducked against the sheepskin collar, rubbing against the cold, but Tobin could catch the grin as it dove.

"Yeah, that’s kind of the point."

"Is that weird? Like, how do you feel about that?"

"A bit anxious, sure. Mostly about the fact that there will be a lot of people around: lights, make-up, staging, that sorta thing. But I’ve come a long way in how I feel about my body. And part of me is sort of excited that I _am_ ok with this."

"So you weren’t always aware of how gorgeous you are?" Tobin winked again.

_Stop doing that, Tobin._

Christen laughed out loud, eyes quirked like she was impressed.

"…You’re in a fun mood tonight. But yeah, I’ve been insecure, sure. What teenage girl isn’t? Mostly when my body was compared to someone else; a teammate. They seemed to build muscle _everywhere_ but for me, if it wasn’t worked in a soccer game, it may as well not have been there. So I got called dainty, breakable, things like that. But then at school, I was _too_ muscled for a girl. It felt like I couldn’t win."

“When do you think it changed?"

“Well, my parents always did a good job of helping us to recognize what was just media pressure and what was good and healthy. But I remember senior year, I took this AP philosophy course; I don’t remember much really. But when we were studying Socrates, we read that he defined beauty as function. Like, if it worked how it was supposed to, it was beautiful. Big nose means you breath better? Then it’s more beautiful. That sort of thing. And that really struck me. Other than this stupid back pain that kicks up sometimes, my body has done nothing but function as I want it to. And the older I get, the more I’m able to call that beautiful. So, yeah, I’m actually not that worried about the shoot. I’m kind of excited to be honest… It feels like a cool way to share that. That what makes me beautiful is not how my body looks, but what it _does_ you know? And I want girls to know that."

Brown eyes crinkled. "That’s really beautiful, Christen."

"Thanks. …Though" here she got a wolfish smirk "it’s not all altruistic. I’m gonna get some pretty dope photos for free. It’s like the sportiest boudoir shoot ever" she snorted, causing Tobin to laugh with her. "And who doesn’t want someone to publish epic photos praising their body? I’m not so saintly as it sounds."

Tobin could feel her cheeks heating up. "I’m sure they’ll be awesome."

Christ smirked again, motioning towards her body with a confident hand. "How could they not be?" and laughed. It was a carefree thing; loose and joyous. Tobin liked getting to see Christen like this. Outside of the pressure of a game. Outside of the shadowed emotions of her evening rehabs.She’d miss this.

"So what’s the question? I’d guess house sitting if I didn’t live, like, 5 states away from Chicago. Or do you need an alibi on social media? Something so your fans don’t track you down and find you naked?" _Geeze Louise, Tobin you winked a THIRD time? What’s wrong with you?_

Christen’s nose wrinkled."What? …Tobin, I’m asking if you’ll come!"

Eyes shot wide. "OH."

Christen let out a little chuckle, head shaking in lingering befuddlement. "Yeah, they called to remind me that I can bring someone with me. They want us to feel calm on set; have someone there we trust, that sort of thing."

"…When did you say?"

"The 16th. You just fly to California with me — on them, of course — hang out, drink some free coffee, eat some free donuts. Watch the photographers work their magic. Tell me my hair looks nice. I don’t know."

"Your hair always looks nice." _I mean, that’s objectively true, right?_

"Then this should be the easiest gig ever. …So you’ll come?"

Tobin looked up at the woman through her lashes, eyes slipping to the white puff of air wisping from her lips into the night — "Yeah, if you want me there … I’m there."

They moved on to talking about how cool Abby Wambach was, and how powerful her body had looked in her shoot.

Tobin forgot to ask about switching rooms.

* * *

**4/16/20  
 **Malibu, California  
 **Photoshoot for ESPN The Magazine Body Issue  
  
******

_"I’m 100% a byproduct of my sport. I always tell my teammates that I only have muscles where they get to play. I have butt muscles, thigh muscles, and then my upper body is super skinny — except for my shoulders, which you need for a little bit of strength to hold other players off the ball. … Everything about my body looks like soccer."_

_"A lot of my teammates have more muscles, they’re long, they’re strong. I have a pretty feminine body, but it’s a little bit on the smaller side. I’ve been described by the media as frail compared to my teammates. I’ve always wanted a more perfect body. But if you think about it, the bodies that I see every day are my teammates’, and they are some of the most amazing bodies in the world — so that gives you a skewed perspective. I’ve spent a lot of time being insecure about my body, but it’s done so much for me. It’s my tool, my vessel for my job. I’m very grateful for the way that I feel when I play — I feel very powerful, I feel fast, I feel unstoppable, and that’s because of my body."_

Christen was crushing the intermediate video interview. She was so well spoken and Tobin marveled that this woman belonged perfectly at both Stanford and the field. And the magazine spread come to think of it. Because these photos…

They were art.

And she didn’t mean in the male-gaze, Victoria’s Secret, pornhub sorta way. Christen was like… Tobin struggled for a comparison.

Like a —

Ok, work with me here. So, Tobin had won gold at 2008 in Beijing. Incredible experience. 10 out of 10 would recommend. And afterwards, her and some of the team had stayed for a week to explore. The country was so huge and the history so rich and the food so very delectable when you were no longer on a strict Olympic diet. But one day, they’d gone to a museum filled with ancient weapons. There were swords, and axes, and pikes, and daggers and all the steel implements you could probably imagine. And it was cool. But then, there had been this one room. Tobin had never seen anything like it — never expected to find a room like this in a hall for weapons.

They were fans. Ornamental fans. Painted. Delicate. Lovely.

Deadly.

They were steel-tipped and as she read the plaques on the wall, as she watched the screen in the corner share the history, she found that there were entire dances of war dedicated to the precise and lethal edge of what looked like so many butterfly wings. A steel-edged fan was easy to conceal, to carry, to use lightly on a hot summer day.But opened, its razor edged could slice. Closed, its pointed end worked as well as any dagger. No matter how beautiful, it would always be a weapon.

That was Christen’s body.

It was a weapon. Her quads and glutes as she leapt over and over again in a shot of a mid-air kick.The long tensing lines in her arms as they stretched across her body. The cut of her calves, honed with years of sprints and lunges. Back rippling in a twist. This body was made to destroy an opponent on a field. To dodge the fastest defender, to shoulder an attacker out of the way, to body check with the best of them. To score until the other team wanted lightning to strike just so the game could be called early. Every single muscle was a tool of war.

What was harder for Tobin to admit, but so very impossible to ignore, was that she was also _beautiful_. Her skin glistened in the sun like the dust God had formed her with was laden with mica. Her curves moved so smoothly into one another that your hands ached to trace the path. Her — all the moisture in Tobin’s throat evacuated the moment that white robe was slipped off and handed to an aide — nipples were dark and prominent, the aureolas stark in contrast even against her darker skin.

She was beautiful and she was deadly and Tobin was amazed with her. At the power in her body. At her confidence.

And as they tossed her the ball against various backdrops — prompting leaps, and dives, and traps against her chest — it was like watching a war dance be composed.

This shoot was going to be incredible.

Tobin’s fingers itched to paint. To create. Anything to release this inspiration clawing at her throat to get out.

"She’s a natural."

"Hm?"

"Christen. It’s like she’s not even nervous."

If Tobin hadn’t seen her earlier, hadn’t seen the tremble in Christen’s hand as she assured the photographer that she’d be fine with hands adjusting her stance as long as none touched near her hips; heard the quiet rhythm of Christen sucking at the lip trapped between her teeth as she waited on a couch with Tobin, white robe clutched around her waist; felt the fidget of her fingers when they slipped in hers after the first location, "Do you think that went ok? Did I… did I look ok, you think?"; Tobin would have had to agree.

Tobin hummed.

"So you’re her…"

She glanced at the woman. White, blonde, a little taller than her, smart blue button up tucked into a pair of Chino shorts.

"Teammate."

"Ah, I’ll admit I don’t follow soccer. I should probably know who you are then?"

Tobin glanced back at Christen. She was currently standing sideways in front of a sea-weathered blue wall. Her arm was tucked around her small breasts, and a man was grabbing her hair to arrange it in a waterfall down her back. She looked comfortable enough, talking with the photographer in her periphery who was checking the light through the lens.

"Tobin. Tobin Heath. But that’s ok, soccer isn’t everyone’s gig."

"Do you live in the area, Tobin?"

"No, I’m from Portland. Just came with Chris for the shoot."

"Where are you staying tonight? There’s some decent hotels in the area."

She was posed like a dancer now, arm swung out wide and the other across her body as one leg stepped in front to cut off the eye-line towards anywhere inappropriate. But, instead, it highlighted the deep vee of her abdomen, the shadows set up perfectly to show the curve of her stomach before the cut and sudden drop from her midline to the inside of her hip bone. The valley there. Muscle and slope. Power and velvet. Tobin’s fingers twitched.

"Hm? Uh, nowhere I think. My flight is at 7, and hers not long after that."

"Oh, too bad. You know, you should consider staying longer. It looks like you have a body for surfing and I know some great spots here in Malibu. …One within a mile of my apartment."

Christen glanced up, eyes searching until she found her, brows furrowing for a second when she caught sight. Tobin grinned, lifted two fingers in a wave.

Christen grinned back as more hands messed with her hair, another aide adjusting her arm a little; mouthed " _You good?_ "

Tobin nodded.

Christen raised her eyebrows a couple of times, cheesing all the while; mouthed " _Look good?_ ", one eyebrow lingering up.

Tobin rolled her eyes, corners of her lips pulling towards her cheeks; mouthed back " _Don’t be smug._ "

Christen’s eyes lit up, nose wrinkling in suppressed laughter as someone called for her to "look up and to the left, near that post over there." She did so, abdomen flexing another scatter of shadows across the ripples of her body. 

"Ah. Well. …I’m going to go set up the camera for the next video portion then…"

The sound of the surf off the cliff rumbled a little in the air.

"… It was really nice meeting you, Tobin."

"Oh, uh, nice meeting you too."

Blondie walks away and Tobin feels like she probably missed something. But Christen is glancing at her again and Tobin finds herself inching closer, grabbing the robe off a chair so that she’s ready when the time comes for someone to slip it back on over her shoulders.

For someone to fold up the fan until the next battle — or next dance — began.

* * *

6pm found the two of them stretched out in a United Airlines lounge waiting for Tobin’s boarding call for PDX.

She was glad Christen had told her to go casual; black snapback, black TOMBOY shirt, distressed jeans with rips all across the knees and thighs. It would make the flight more comfortable, for sure, though she still felt like a bit of a slob compared to the woman with her head currently in her lap. Even though Chris had traded the white robe for some Nike joggers and a tank, her hair and make-up were impeccable from the shoot making even the sweats look like some statement on sports chic.

“How you doing, Ms. Model?"

Christen smirked from her position on Tobin’s thighs, eyes peaceful as her right hand lofted to mess with the loose strings of a hole at Tobin’s knee.

"While I appreciate the moniker, I have to say, I think I’ll stick with football."

"What? No jetting off to Milan? Oui to Paree?" The accent was lame (you’d think PSG taught her nothing), but it was worth it for the laugh.

Christen sighed dramatically. "The world will just have to be satisfied with a limited run."

"Supply and demand tells me this may not actually work in your favor." Tobin’s hand worked little circles into the dark and glossy hairline as Christen’s eyes squinched at the corners.

"There are plenty of attractive women out there to populate the runways."

"Ah, but only one you," Tobin murmured.

Christen’s eyes popped open, peering up at the brown with a warm and honest appreciation.

"…Did I say thanks for coming yet?"

A chuckle. "Only about 30 times by now."

"Well let’s make it 31." She wrapped a hand briefly around the midfielder’s wrist. " _Thank you._ It made me so much more comfortable to know you were there. Would be there if I needed you."

Deft fingers continued brushing at the black woman’s temples. "I was honored. Plus, it was really cool to watch how they did everything. The lighting, the backdrops. It was like watching art happen. It made me want to paint."

Christen’s eyes slipped closed again as the hands continued their work. "You know, I don’t think I’ve actually seen anything of yours before. Have you always painted?"

"No, mostly since college. I didn’t really have time with soccer growing up. Though I think I would have liked it."

"I get that. Soccer consumes everything pretty quickly."

Tobin hummed. "What was that like for your family?"

A manicured hand reached up to start messing with the strings on Tobin’s thigh now. "Pretty good actually, I think. We were the prototypical soccer family: my mom driving car pool with the orange wedges and my dad coaching. Even my sisters would help. I used to take 200 shots a day growing up. And you _know_ that takes a long time. But my whole family would head outside and dad would play keep, mom would cheer, and my sisters would help me shag balls. Those are some of my best memories actually. Lots of laughter."

Christen chuckled suddenly, the tops of her shoulders jostling against the brunette’s thigh. "Though I guess it drove them a little crazy sometimes too. We would get _intense_ about competitions. And though they were never insane about it, I think my parents got really invested in me winning."

"When I was 12 years old, a close friend of my family gave me this small glass elephant she’d gotten in India. It was _beautiful_. Flickered when the light hit it just right. I kept it tucked inside my soccer backpack in a sock so I could always have it with me. Just to look at it you know? Not much after that, we were all on this car ride to play the first round of State Cup—which was basically the hype level of the World Cup in my house at the time" Tobin grinned along with her, "—and I had pulled it out. Seriously, it was…kaleidoscopic. But my mom caught a glimpse of it in the rear view mirror. Must have hit some light in her eyes or something. But I swear, there was _panic_. She asked to see it so I hand it up, right?"

Her hands are getting into the story now.

"Then she tells me, I mean I had NO idea, that elephant figurines like mine, with their trunks turned down, are actually bad luck. And before I could say “I’d rather be lucky than good,” she rolled down the window and _threw_ it in a ditch."

The woman laughed outright, and Tobin glanced up to see if anyone in the lounge was looking their way but there was only an older couple reading newspapers and a mom trying to control her wandering toddler. She glanced back down.

"So, I knew they really did want me to win. But they were always kind when I couldn’t. We were a team, no matter what."

The hand not fraying her jeans bent up blindly, aiming for a poke in her stomach but hitting awkwardly against her ribs instead. Christen shook out her hand with a played-up pout. "But enough about me. You’ve listened to me talk about my family and soccer development all day. How did your family handle you and soccer as a kid? Were they supportive of you becoming an athlete?"

Hands pushed at Christen’s shoulders, forcing her to lean up and she pouted further; " _Tobin_ " emerging in a whine.

Tobin chuckled, stretching her legs out briefly before standing up and turning around with her hands on her hips. "What? I gave you head scritches as we talked. If you’re going to make me, I want some in return." She held out her hand in a _give me the money_ gesture that had Christen giggling bodily.

"So _demanding_. Geeze. Ok, get yourself down here."

But instead of patting her thighs, she turned against the arm of the long couch and folded up her legs, patting the X of her ankles instead. Tobin bit the inside of her cheek.

"Come on, bossy." Christen patted her ankles again, eyebrow raised.

_Fine._

Tobin sat delicately on the couch, spinning sideways with her legs lofted as she eyed the distance, propping her own ankles on the far arm as her neck settled against the tiny bones in Christen’s ankles, head sinking into the diamond formed by her legs.

Christen slipped her hands down and around the gap between Tobin’s ears and her thighs, fingers pressing deep and strong into the hair at the back of her head and the brunette sighed. _Gosh, that felt good._

"Good enough, your highness?"

Tobin sniffed. "It’ll do." The fingers dragged nails in a slow scratch against the back of her neck. "So what was it? Family opinions on soccer?"

Christen just waited, adjusted her ankles slightly as Tobin’s shoulders moved against the couch, pressing her head further back into the vee of Christen’s thighs.

"Well, honestly, sometimes they were even more into it than I was. Definitely my mom, at least."

"How so?"

"I think she dreamed of me being a professional before I even knew that was something that existed. She got me a personal trainer at age 6 when it was clear I had some basic talent."

Pink lips hummed up above.

"I don’t think she meant it this way, but she was always making it clear how much her and my dad were putting into this. Into me being great. And that she expected me to honor that by being the best I could possibly be. So there was a lot of pressure. Especially when real competitions started the older I got. States, nationals, camps. Whatever I was doing at the time was the most important thing, and if we didn’t win, that was a setback to her plan."

Tobin’s eyes were shut so she couldn’t see the furrow in Christen’s brows, but she could imagine it. Could hear how well it would pair with the little puff of disgruntled air she released from her nostrils.

"I think it hurt my siblings too. They played sports, but none of them were as interested as I was in going far with it. So my mom missed a lot of their things to go to mine. There were several years where Katie would barely talk to me. She spent more time at the neighbor’s than our house, I think. And Jeff just decided to stick with my dad really. But Perry… I don’t know who she had. She always seemed ok, and she was always really sweet to me other than the normal sister spats, but I know it must have hurt." Christen smoothed back her hair from her forehead, starting to trace little zigzag designs back from the wisps. "But she’d slip into my bed late at night sometimes and tell me how good I was. How proud she was of how hard I worked and that she loved me."

"It sounds like she really cares about you."

Tobin frowned. "Yeah. I just wish I’d been able to spend more time with her." Her head tilted back into the fingers, nose brushing unintentionally against the fabric over Christen’s thigh before jerking back in surprise, adjusting straight up again. "But I don’t mean to make it out so bad. We had a lot of good times as a family, too. Some pretty sweet vacations. Movie night marathons. Jeff would put on these comedy shows at dinner," she smiled faintly.

"Did they ever find out about your—"

_FLIGHT 2317 TO PDX HAS BEGUN BOARDING AT GATE 9._

_VUELO 2317 A PDX HA COMENZADO A ABORDAR EN LA PUERTA 9._

Tobin’s eyes slipped open as Christen’s head tilted to the side to listen. She glanced down. "I guess that’s you."

Brown eyes peered up, wishing they didn’t have to leave quite so soon. Didn’t have to leave Christen alone in the airport.

Hands cupped her face and Christen smiled down kindly. 

Then her mouth twisted.

"You didn’t hydrate enough today, Tobin." A thumb swiped as light as a breath across her bottom lip; even so, she could feel the dry edges of splitting skin catch against the forward’s fingerprint. "Make sure to drink some water on the plane, please."

Tobin’s eyes slipped shut one more time, thighs flexing as she gathered herself for the hours of sitting in a too small area.

"…Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you before you go." A finger lightly tapped Tobin’s nose.

Her eyelashes fluttered open again.

"I’ve been thinking for a while… can we do something like this, when we have to start my… stuff again?"

"Like this?"

"I think I’ve gotten pretty ok with not freaking out when I touch myself anymore - and that’s huge. But I think I still have a long way to go towards being comfortable with it." She sucked her lip into her mouth just briefly, the pink emerging with a slight sheen. "But being like this. You touching my hair. Just nice touches from friends in general… it’s really relaxing. And I think maybe if we did this first, I could actually start to associate the rest of it with something pleasant. With my body feeling good."

The finger tapped her nose again; once, twice. "… Do you think we could try it?"

_FLIGHT 2317 TO PDX HAS BEGUN BOARDING AT GATE 9._

_VUELO 2317 A PDX HA COMENZADO A ABORDAR EN LA PUERTA 9._

Tobin lifted a hand to settle briefly around Christen’s still planted against her cheek. "When we get back?"

"If you’re still ok with the idea then."

Tobin nodded. "Yeah, I think that’s a great idea, Chris."

The woman blushed to rose. "I really do think it could help. But you can say the moment you’re uncomfortable."

"Yeah, I know."

Tobin vaulted up, abs tensing as she lifted her legs from the far arm, swinging around to face forward. Her hair fell into her face and she bent her head between her knees; flipped back so the soft strands landed on her back instead.

"I guess I’ll see you in a couple months." She glanced over shyly. "I’ll _miss_ you, Christen."

Suddenly, arms are wrapped around her shoulders, Tobin’s head tucked snuggly under Christen’s by a firm hand. "I’ll miss _you,_ Tobin."

The woman leaned back smiling, eyes actually misty with affection (" _what I wouldn’t give to show emotion that clearly" flashing through Tobin’s mind). "_ Don’t be a stranger, ok?"

Tobin nodded. Then, with a little sigh of disappointment, she grabbed her backpack and slung it over a shoulder, standing to face the forward still seated cross-legged on the couch. "Back at ya. Thanks again for inviting me, Chris. This was really special." And with one last pull of the corner of her mouth, she headed out to find Gate 9.

* * *

**6/1/16  
 **Commerce City, Colorado** **

Tobin spent the last six weeks in Portland with the Thorns, practicing and hopping in for the few games an Olympic year allowed. Christen had done the same with the Red Stars. She’d expected it to be like Ireland honestly — you’re with your USWNT friends when you’re there and your league friends at home. But Christen had surprised her, and truthfully, Tobin had surprised herself. They’d been texting almost every day. Photos mostly to start. Christen’s dogs. Tobin’s art experiments - bright and tonal as she searched for a signature style. Smoothie bowls, and yoga sunrises. Tobin frowning in front of a wilting succulent. Pho. A Playbill for The Color Purple. Her and Lindsey smiling at a Portland coffee shop. A funny license plate (" _Tobin! Don’t text in the car!")._

As photos turned into comments turned into conversations, she felt like she was really getting to _know_ Christen. Like, yes, they’d won a World Cup together. They’d gone to countless of the same tournaments. Had showdowns in the league. Even shared a hotel room at a friendly or two before all of this began. But… she’d never really known how _silly_ the other woman was. Or that she hated mushrooms with a passion. The profound confusion and isolation she experience growing up as a light-skinned Black girl in America; how it made her and her sisters even closer.

Tobin wanted to know everything about her.

And even though Tobin hadn’t figured out how to volunteer things about herself as well as the other woman, Christen received everything she did offer with such open hands. Even if it was just that her and Katie hadn’t talked in a while and it made her sad to not know about her sister’s life. Or that sometimes she had nightmares about kids laughing at her at school even though it was years ago now.

Tobin knew that she wasn’t always a very open person, and that a lot of the time her friends had to work to get stuff out of her. She knew they loved her anyway. She knew they were safe and would be there if she really needed them. She knew they didn’t care when she got antsy at too much contact, or flipped her hood up on the bus. They let her be and enjoyed her whenever she engaged.

But Christen made her want to be _known._ Christen made her feel like she _wanted_ to tell all her secrets, and Tobin didn’t really know what to do with that. With the fact that if Christen showed up at her doorstep and forced her way into the carefully constructed spaces in Tobin’s life … she might actually _like_ it.

She’d never had a friend like Christen before, and it scared her. But she couldn’t imagine being anything but _in_ for it. _In_ for whatever space Christen wanted to occupy.

When they arrived at the Hyatt for the Japan friendly, the first thing Christen decided she wanted to occupy was Tobin’s sweatshirt.

"It’s _mine,_ Chris."

"And I want to wear it, Tobin."

"Why?!"

"Because its sleeves are long, and you’ve worn it to the perfect soft fabric consistency, and because my flight was delayed and I had to sit between two very large men, and because I _want to."_

Tobin stared down the straight-faced woman.

_…Dammit._

"Fine."

Christen’s face broke into a happy grin at her victory and she snuggled against her headboard, fingers pulling the sleeves down around her hands.

"Excellent. Now what’s up with you? Oh! Did the landlord catch your neighbor with the cat yet? Because it is super cute and I’m hoping if I ever visit you that I can kidnap it and it still needs to be there for that to happen. And did you read that article I sent you? And have you written your speech for Allie’s wedding? But the article was _so good_ right? I thought it really captured —"

"Hold on, too fast: No, 'Catnap’, Yes, No."

The forward’s nose wrinkled. "Wait, I forget what order I asked in. Did —"

"Christen!"

The woman just laughed, catching the enthusiasm of Tobin’s fond grin.

It softened into something warmer and quiet.

"… It’s good to see you, Chris."

"It’s good to see you too."

Christen’s head tilted to the side — "Tobin, d—"

A sharp three raps rang out from the door.

With a glance confirming that neither of them were expecting someone, Tobin slid off the bed towards the entry, checking the peephole before swinging it open.

"Hi, Tobin."

Christen’s head pricked up.

"Mal? You okay?"

The girl nodded with a quick smile.

"Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to sleep with you guys tonight if that’s ok."

_Precious. Goodness gracious._

"Sure, babylove, come on in here."

With a bubbling grin, the girl hopped into the far bed, shuffled her legs under the covers and scooched her back up against the headboard beside the older woman, Christen unable to not laugh at the silly but earnest exuberance.

The girl chirped happily with a wiggle. "Hi, I missed you." Her head swung quickly around. "You too, Toby."

The midfielder snorted — "are you caffeinated? Did Lindsey give you her Redbull again?"

Mal sniffed primly. "No, Tobin. This is the enthusiasm of youth. It’s ok you don’t recognize it - I know it’s been a while."

Christen guffawed and Tobin mock glared at the both of them.

A little giggle. "No actually… well," Mal sobered a little bit, "I just had my check-in with the team therapist."

_Oh._

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah. It actually went really _well_. I feel… good, you know?"

Christen beamed. "Mal! That’s wonderful!"

The girl smiled up a little shyly, picking at her thumbnail with the other hand. 

"She says that I’m doing a good job at defining my family patterns. That she can see that I’m learning what’s actually true about me and the things I just thought were true." 

"That’s a big deal, Mal," Tobin piped from her bed.

"I think so too. I’m really … proud of myself, honestly. And I … I wanted to tell you guys."

Long arms wrapped around the girl’s shoulders in a spirited hug. "I _love_ that you came and told us."

Tobin hummed in agreement and Mal flashed her a quick smile.

"I don’t think I want to right now, but … maybe I can tell you more about it later?"

"Absolutely, baby. Of course." Christen shuffled down into the covers slightly, tugging at a slim wrist. "Come on, it’s too late anyway. We’ve got an early morning."

Mal scooted down obediently, head tilting to look at the older woman. "Are you doing yoga before breakfast?"

"Yeah, with Crystal."

"Can I come?"

Chris dropped a kiss to her temple. "Always. Maybe we can even convince Tobin."

A snort echoed from the other bed. "Yeah, good luck with that. Light?"

Two _mhm_ ’s later, Tobin hit the switch, the room plummeting into a comfortable darkness. She could hear the blankets as they adjusted in the next bed, the two women navigating into their positions of rest. They settled, and then a small and — she knows you can’t truly identify inflection, but it reads like grateful — voice spoke warmly into the black. 

_"I love you, Chris._ "

She could hear a light tap — like a finger against a nose. "I love you too, baby."

A suspicious pause, and then an exaggerated whisper.

"But don’t say it so loud…"

— Oh _God_ , Tobin could hear it in her voice already —

" …Tobin might get the wrong idea." 

She didn’t even need to see the waggling eyebrows to know they were there.

As matching giggles erupted from the other bed, Tobin pulled the blanket over her head in self-pity.

" _You said you weren’t going to bring that up, Chris!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megan: I’m bored. Tell me a joke.  
> Becky: Analyzing Humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it.  
> Megan: What the fuck, Becky?  
> 
> 
> Leave a Comment: 1) favorite Tobin and Christen interaction so far?
> 
> P.S. Warning y’all. It starts to get a bit smutty next chapter…


	5. A Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think I’ve gotten pretty ok with not freaking out when I touch myself anymore - and that’s huge. But I think I still have a long way to go towards being comfortable with it." She sucked her lip into her mouth just briefly, the pink emerging with a slight sheen. "But being like this. You touching my hair. Just nice touches from friends in general… it’s really relaxing. And I think maybe if we did this first, I could actually start to associate the rest of it with something pleasant. With my body feeling good."
> 
> "… Do you think we could try it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this needs a trigger warning, but if so, here you go: things are starting to get a tad... um... -- Ok, I don't know why I'm in a revelatory mood today. But y'all, I have only said the word smut aloud ONCE in my life and that was because someone asked me a 4 letter word for dirty writing for their crossword and it tumbled out. It was right, too. But when she asked me why I knew it I was like OOP. So this word is only in my vocabulary in the blessed anonymity of the interwebs. But smut. We're getting in to smut.

Ali: You could really work on your manners, Ash.

Ashlyn: Are you kidding me?! I told her please!

Ali: …

Ashlyn: …

Ashlyn: Ok, I said 'bitch, please' but that counts as progress!

* * *

**6/2/16  
 **Commerce City, Colorado  
 **Friendly: US v Japan (3-3)  
 **Goals: Morgan, Morgan, Horan** ******

They try it after tying Japan.

Tobin can’t stop looking — can’t stop _noting_.

The way Christen twitches lightly when Tobin brushes the inside of her elbow.

The way her chin falls to the side as a finger traces up the line of her neck.

The way she tilts her arm like she’s trying to tell Tobin where to touch next.

Christen is melting beneath her, noiseless but for the practiced and perfected meditative breaths.

The pads of her fingers are tracing down the indent of a toned bicep at the moment, soft hairs dipping in a gentle brush as she glides past. _It’s like tracing your fingertips in water,_ Tobin marvels, t _he tickle and soothe of it at the same time_.

And as she skims to the inside of Christen’s arm it’s like … actually, Tobin isn’t sure. Butter, or silk or some other cliched thing that would be a comical comparison were it not for the fact that this is so very real right now and so very deserving of simile and metaphor and every other literary device in poetry that she can’t think of in this instant because _soft_.

Tobin is baffled about why Christen trusts her enough to ask for this. Why is she the safe place? What had she ever done to deserve that?

But all that matters right now is that Christen does. Trust her. 

"Doing ok, Chris?"

Her mouth parts lightly with the slightest wet click.

" _Feels good_."

It’s tiny and sleepy and soft _she’s so soft. How can an athlete be so soft?_

Tobin traces around the bones in her wrist; marvels that her thumb and middle finger can meet on the other side. Turns the woman’s hand palm up and drags a nail long and light over each and every finger. Around and the same on her other side.

Christen might be asleep at this point.

She swirls just once in the hollow above each collarbone, finally journeying a finger up her neck to just behind her ear, hand pushing fully into the mass of curls and scratching lightly at her scalp. Christen’s head dips to the side and the cord of her neck catches light and shadow in the stretch of it.

Tobin pulls her hand away.

"Are you relaxed?"

Christen nods against the pillow.

"Think you want to try now?"

Green eyes blink open in a daze, taking a moment to register the words.

She nods minutely. "Ok." Seems to gather more of herself. "But you’ll stay right? You’ll be here?"

Tobin leans over to pull her new book (" _You’ve never read Peter Pan, Tobin? We need to change this right now;" Christen dragging her into a book store in LAX)_ from the bag by her bed and leans against the headboard, motioning with a finger for Christen to settle in. Begins to read:

_"All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, “Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!” This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end."_

_"Of course they lived at 14, and until Wendy came her mother was the chief one. She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that Wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner."_

Between her legs the woman touches herself, exhaling one sweet and breathy sigh.

* * *

**6/5/16  
 **Cleveland Ohio  
 **Friendly: US v Japan (2-0)  
 **Goals: Johnston, Morgan  
 **Note: Game ended in the 76 th minute due to lightning **********

"Jesus, I know we have a month gap and no one is checking our diets … but did she order one of everything on the menu?" Christen laughed, taking in the mountain of containers on the table.

"No, come on, Chris” — Alex got a glint in her eye and waited till Kelley realized they were talking about her— “Some things she ordered twice."

* * *

**7/9/16  
 **Chicago, Illinois  
 **Friendly: US v South Africa (1-0)  
 **Goals: Dunn** ******

Tobin’s eyes blink dully, clearing the haze from her vision as she tries to discern the shape across from h— _oh._ It was Christen in full yoga regalia, just a hint of lingering sweat at her temples as one eyebrow raised imperiously.

"Finally. It’s been, like, an hour." Pink lips pull back in feigned exasperation. "Also, why are you never in my bed when I wake up? That’s like, 4 times now you fell asleep in my bed, and I wake up with you back in your own." She shook a finger. "A girl could get a complex, Heath."

_Too early._

The purple lycra clad body is hopping up now, pillow clutched loosely in one h— _oh no—_

 _"_ Christen! _"_

A giggle emerges from behind the pillow just flopped on top of Tobin’s head. She huffs as she knocks it off, hair a mess around her face that takes way too long to get in order enough ( _ug, why does it always get in your mouth)_ to glare at the woman standing with her hands on her hips.

"Well?"

"You were too hot."

Christen simpers, hands vamping around her face. "Oh _baby_ , why didn’t you say so? I’ll have to tone it down for you."

Tobin reclaims the pillow to press it back to her face with a groan ( _"You know that’s not what I meant")_ causing laughter far too spirited for 7am.

A body suddenly flops on hers and the breath she’d just inhaled escapes with an _oof._

 _"_ Christennnn," she whines — two dark hands lifting up the bottom edge of the pillowcase to catch the squint of brown eyes, snickering all the while — "you’re sweaty!"

"Too hot for you, baby?"

Tobin pouts as the blessed dark of the underside of the pillow disappears when it’s flipped up and off her head completely. When she scowls down, Christen just tucks her chin on two closed fists like a 6 year old posing for school picture day ( _Frickin cute too, dangit)_ , elbows planted in the quilt beneath Tobin’s armpits as she lays bodily on top of her.

"…So, are you awake yet?"

"Not sure. This may be a nightmare."

Christen removes one hand temporarily to poke at Tobin’s stomach, eliciting another groan. "Hey, I am a _dream_."

"You’re certainly something, I’ll give you that," Tobin drawls but she can’t hide the warmth and humor lighting up inside her at the other woman’s playful enthusiasm.

"Hm… just for that I may drink the coffee I brought you fresh from the lobby. Two creams and one sugar isn’t my favorite, but I guess it’ll do."

Tobin’s shoulders vault upright in an instant causing the other woman to tumble over onto the quilt with a squeak. "Wait, no! You are a dream, you’re the best, you’re a vision."

Christen sniffs dismissively from her fallen pose against the quilt, arms sprawled above her head; tilts her chin up and away.

Tobin’s teeth bare in an absurd grin, scooting till she’s pressed up against the woman’s side; grinding her chin into the muscle above a bared clavicle. "Can I have my coffee, pleeeeeease."

One dark finger sneaks up to tap a chin thoughtfully. "I don’t know. It looks to me like you got _plenty_ of sleep, maybe caffeine is overkill…"

And in an impulse Tobin will wonder at for hours later, she finds herself laying quick and exuberant kisses to the forward’s cheek, each press goofy and smacked as she pleads; "please, Chris, please?? You were so sweet to bring it. Please?"

Christen lets out a chuckle with her eyes closed, face beatific in its smiling. "…Alright, fine. Have your drug."

And with one last lively smooch to the pinking cheekbone, Tobin rolls off the bed to trot towards the cup she had failed to notice earlier on the TV stand.

" _So much better than yoga._ "

* * *

30 minutes later found a showered and flat-ironed Christen and a marginally more awake Tobin stepping into the breakfast hall.

The moment the door fell closed, an uproar began.

"Ow ow! There’s our naked shooting star!"

"Christen, can you sign my copy?" Kelley asked with a comically salacious eyebrow-raise.

"Dude, did you have pasties or were you really like… all nude?"

"How do you feel knowing guys are going to be pulling this out from under their bed for _months?"_

Christen blushed but gamely lofted a jaunty hand, performing a little twirl for the room. "Ladies, ladies, one at a time." Then she unleashed the most adorkable of attempted winks. "And Kell, an autograph will cost a Lincoln at _least." ("Hey!"_ )

As she filled a plate and settled at a table, the women around her buzzed about the ESPN Body Issue that had dropped two days before, and the many video interviews as well. You could hear a chorus of tinny speakers playing Christen’s commentary on body insecurity, her hopes for young girls, the pressure of the national team.

"This is good stuff, Press!"

Tobin settled at a table with Alyssa and Becky, the latter glancing up from her crossword with a quick smile.

She could hear Mal’s light soprano piping some compliment. Horan’s alto agreeing in turn as a chuckle ( _I could recognize Christen’s laugh in the dark)_ warmly received the prai—

Megan’s voice cut through the chaos."Wait, TOBIN was there?"

Tobin’s head snapped up.

At Allie’s jostled elbow, clamoring to see, Megan threw back a jab of her own and tilted her phone over.

 _"Look_ , it’s right there on ESPN’s website. There’s a photo of her in a robe next to Tobin!"

(" _Fuck, I wish I was there," whispered in Ali’s ear. "Me too, baby.")_

Multiple sets of eyes were peering in her direction and Tobin could feel a creeping tension in her shoulders; a rising flush on her chest.

Christen’s eyes were on her too — a flicker first of humor, then confusion, then concern as green traced over the trepidation painting Tobin’s features.

Her windpipe began to close.

"…14 down, 10 letter word for misanthropic?"

_Breathe._

"Tobin. Help me. 10 letter word for misanthropic?"

_Breathe, Tobin._

"Uh…" she glanced down at the offered paper. At some point her hand had cupped around her throat and she could feel it flutter as she tried to secure an inhale.

"Because 23 across is Viggo Mortensen which makes the fourth letter 'i', right" Becky pointed, drawing brown eyes to the motion, "but I could use some help."

The captain’s face was unbothered, almost blank and Tobin anchored herself in the calm. Let herself focus on the little penciled lines, trying to make sense of the mess.

_"Yeah, they gave me another ticket and we had a movie we needed to finish. Figured we could watch it on the plane."_

_"What movie?"_

_"Can you believe she’d never seen The Sixth Sense?! I wanted to make sure we finished before the world spoiled the ending…"_

Tobin didn’t even know why it made her relieved.

Her pulse drummed strong in her jugular but as the conversation moved on to what it was like to pose nude, she could feel her shoulders starting to settle.

" _Ah_ , it’s 'antisocial'. I see now."

Her eyes drifted to the woman scribbling in the little boxes, just as neutral as before.

_Bless her._

Alyssa’s eyes flickered between the two of them, smiling pleasantly as she ate her eggs.

Tobin offered a smile back, body softening into the chair again, and let the conversations of different tables float away un-noted into a comfortable haze.

* * *

**7/22/16  
 **Kansas City, KN  
 **Friendly: US v Costa Rica (4-0)  
 **Goals: Dunn, Pugh, Lloyd, Press** ******

"Two bros, chilling in a hot tub, 5 feet apart cause they’re not gay." The two voices sing-songed their quote before dissolving into a riot of laughter, answering chuckles ricocheting back from various corners of the giant hotel jacuzzi.

Alex studiously ignored Crystal and Julie’s bit, choosing to grumble instead. "It’s JULY. Why is it 50 fucking degrees outside."

"Awww poor Baby Horse! Can’t handle a little cold?"

Mal piped up. "What are you talking about — this is perfect! This right here is a proper summer night."

Alex just groaned; "says the Coloradan. Coloradite? Coloradian? Whatever. California girls know the truth."

Somewhere, someone started singing Katy Perry and a chuckle passed through the group. Everyone was quiet mostly, enjoying the hot water. Tobin liked it. The sort of pause in the air. The scent of trees. Most of all, she found herself mesmerized by the wisping steam rising like moonlight in the night off the water. She brought a hand up just to disrupt one lifting cloud, spinning her finger so the vapor scattered in little eddies.

A breath touched her ear and she jumped.

"I think Mal’s doing well." Tobin’s head tilted, following the direction Christen marked with a lift of her chin. Mallory was talking quietly with Lindsey, smiling with a body posture Tobin noted was surprisingly open. She knew bathing suits weren’t always the most comfortable outfit for someone with marks like them.

When Tobin looked back, Christen’s face was slightly blue in the scattering of a light under the surface, casting a play of shadows softly on her skin. "She looks happy."

Christen released a content little sigh, swishing her hands back and forth through the surface of the water. Tobin brought her knees up to her chest and sunk down in the warmth to her earlobes.

"…And you’re good right?"

Tobin ducked under the water, coming up to smooth back her hair before smiling gently.

"Yeah. I am. Promise."

They both leaned their heads back against the molding, watching the scene and the stars as the team chattered away in the background.

* * *

Christen collapsed on the bed with a flourish. "Oh god, even after the jacuzzi I’m so sore. Probably should have gone for another ice bath instead — Sánchez really hit me with that slide tackle."

Tobin giggled from a similar slump on her own bed. "It was like you did a backwards somersault, Chris! It was hilarious." She rolled over to her side. "But your goal later, Chris—" tipped up on an elbow, chin cupped in her hand. "It was … gosh, it was just perfect. You were in _just_ the right spot, and that turn with so little space and you still scored. It was awesome."

Christen’s eyes were closed but Tobin could see the corners of her mouth curl up.

"I am sorry you’re sore though. Between that and a goal, I guess you probably deserve the right to skip rehab tonight."

Green eyes flickered open. "How magnanimous, Tobin. Would this kindness have anything to do with the fact that you played a full 90 and are hoping for bed?"

She laughed, chin still tucked in her hand. "Never. I live only to serve."

The forward’s grin morphed into something a little more anxious. "I think maybe I do want to try it tonight? Actually, I thought… maybe I’d wear this?"

Brown irises fell to the green bikini covering very little of milk-chocolate skin. "Are you sure? I mean, we set the rules - no touching anywhere there’s clothes but… Christen," her gaze landed apprehensively on a bared midriff, "this is a bit of a step up from pajama pants and a tank top."

"I know. But things have been going well, and this is a lot closer to… well, to what it would actually be like, right? And really, the only difference is my stomach and my legs, and I think that’s… I think I can manage that."

Tobin’s lip disappeared between her teeth. "… Are you sure?"

"Mhm." Christen nodded, looking not so sure at all.

Tobin stood up slowly, suddenly a bit embarrassed in her own damp bathing suit, wishing she’d thought to throw on a shirt when they got back to the room. _But if Christen was going to wear hers, I should be able to be ok with it too, right?_

She stretched out lightly, careful not to touch anywhere but close enough to feel a little heat off the woman’s chlorine-scented skin. Head cradled back in her left hand, right hand poised over the forward’s stomach, Tobin paused.

"Are you sure you’re ok with this?"

Christen nodded a bit tersely, eyes slipping closed.

Tobin let her eyes trace down the woman’s body. The long neck, bobbing once as Christen swallowed. Two perfect collarbones. Chest rising slightly under the green as the woman breathed through her nose. … Abs. Not as cut as some, but still defined, and yet just as soft as the rest of her body somehow. Tobin’s eyes reached the top hem of the bikini bottoms and her stomach twisted, eyes glancing up again.

Christen’s brows were furrowed slightly but she was breathing deliberate and even.

Tobin let the heel of her right hand and the tip of each finger rest on Christen’s stomach, flinching just slightly underneath. This was new territory and she approached it with a long pause, like being stare-to-stare with a wild rabbit in a field.

Then ever so lightly, pulled her nails down into a light fist, scratching the skin under them. Flexed back up. Then returning - watching Christen’s face the whole time.

_Ok, this seems to be ok._

Lifting the heel of her hand, she stroked a bit further. Over to the curve of her side, then straight across her abdomen to the spot just centimeters from Tobin’s own stomach. Diagonally up to the soft divot at the center of Christen’s body, right below the middle point of the bikini. Then a slow slow drag south rising slightly at the swell just below her bellybutton and down to the hem of her bottoms again. She rested her full hand against the woman’s belly, gathering courage, seam burning into her palm. It made her feel like sweating.

She lifted the hand up again, arching backwards to rub it briefly against the quilt behind her, then returned to drag her four nails - slightly harder this time - from Christen’s left hip, pinky scraping against the bottom hem, across the full expanse of her abdomen to the other hip.

Christen swallowed again, silent. Tobin swallowed reflexively in return.

"I’m going to touch above now."

Christen nodded almost imperceptibly.

Tobin pulled her pointer finger across the far collarbone. Then down the inside of the string gracing Christen’s left shoulder, down right to where the triangle of fabric started. _Ok, Tobin_ , she spurred herself, _we’ve already laid out the rules of this. If she felt uncomfortable or didn’t want it, she would tell you. So get over whatever you’re feeling right now and do it_.

She let that lone finger drag down the angle of the fabric next, right against the softness of the topmost of Christen’s breast, barely touching, down to the vulnerable place directly below her breastbone. Now up the other slope (Christen quivered slightly) to where the next string began again and arched over the woman’s right shoulder. Tobin gulped in the relief and tremble of completing the trace ( _See, it’s just skin that was exposed anyway. Nothing salacious. Nothing important. This is completely friendly. You’re fine._ ) She dragged the backs of her fingers up to Chris’s neck cupping her hand loosely around the side - thumb laid parallel to her windpipe, fingers back at the nape of Christen’s neck.

"Ok so far?"

Christen opened her mouth, that slight wet noise splintering the silence. Licked at her lip like her mouth was too dry too speak.

"Yeah, I’m good."

"Should I keep going?"

"Mhm."

Next came the tour of Christen’s left arm, a few extra strokes tendered to the crease of an elbow she’d already learned caused the other woman to shiver. Then, a bit awkwardly, she maneuvered her hand against her own side to do the same on Christen’s right. Tobin very deliberately avoided staring at the two now-hard peaks that had appeared beneath Christen’s bikini.

_It could just be the cold. And even if not, this is supposed to happen Tobin. This is the goal._

Then the face. Tobin traced the hairline around Chris’s temples, down the strong line of her nose, along each side of her jaw, around each ear, briefly across the cheekbone on either side. Chris was breathing little regular puffs from her mouth now and Tobin could feel it on her hand every time she glanced over the woman’s lips.

"Ok," Tobin raised her hand and stroked a cheek briefly. "I’m going to move down so I can touch your legs."

She’d resigned herself to the heat coiling in her belly weeks ago.

Christen nodded again, eyes still not open.

Tobin rolled sideways to swing her legs to the floor, walking to the end of the bed to figure out how best to approach this. Christen’s left leg was bent slightly, foot leaning up against her other calf. She really didn’t want to lay down again because her head would be far too close to … well, it didn’t feel appropriate, but to sit to the side would be hard to— and if —

 _Ok. Just ask, Tobin._ "Can I move your leg out a bit, and kneel in between?"

Christen opened her eyes for the first time, folding slowly up against her elbows. "What?"

Tobin swallowed. "I think it’d be easier to … can I just" and she gently picked up the woman’s left ankle and dragged it out a bit, leaving Christen’s legs in a narrow vee, just enough for Tobin to kneel between her calves. Christen watched, eyebrows pulled together and teeth nipping at her lip as the brunette adjusted to balance on her shins, placed her hands on the outside of Christen’s knees, and looked up.

Her golden brown eyes and twisting mouth asked a silent question.

Christen collapsed back again and brought her left arm up to cover her eyes. "Go ahead."

Tobin rubbed her thumbs against the woman’s kneecaps. "Ok."

Same as above, Tobin began to trace lines up and down Christen’s calves and shins, into the divots of her ankle and the soft and hidden skin at the crease of her knees, careful strokes over the soles of her feet, and back up to her kneecaps. Christen’s arm rested resolutely over her eyes leaving Tobin with an ache to read her face.

Holding her breath, she ran her palms up Christen’s thighs, angling out at the last moment to rest fingers on the outside band of her swim bottoms. Back down along the outer thigh now.

_Are you sure?_

Carefully, carefully, she grasped Christen’s knees and pushed them slightly up and out, widening the vee of her body, the woman’s ankles adjusting in to press against Tobin’s calves.

"I’m just going to touch the inside of your thighs now."

With the better angle, Tobin leaned slightly forward, running the back of the nails of her three middle fingers up the inside of the woman’s (chest now heaving slightly) legs, hands flexing out at the last bit to rest just below the innermost hem of the green fabric.

Tobin gulped.

Christen trembled.

She began to pull her fingers lightly up the hemline, running across the skin just a centimeter below the base of her pelvis to the outside until the quilt met the lowermost jut of the hip, and then even slower returning the trace to the inside and down, palms settling midway up the top half of the woman’s inner thighs, pads of her fingers sweaty and still near that thin stretch of fabric covering an area Tobin wrestled in her mind not to name.

_You need to step away, Tobin. Now._

Tobin leaned up, legs slipping carefully to the side as she crawled off the bed and stepped over to her own in one long stride, hoping to mask the shake of her knees.

"Ok, I think that’s enough now… I’ll be back over here and you just keep your eyed closed and… uh," _Christ, "_ try to remember how it feels to be touched."

_I can’t believe I just said that. What sort of alternate dimension am I in??_

"Tobin?"

"Yeah?"

"I feel… I feel good. I feel like my body is — I don’t know. I feel like it’s ready. Like it could be. But I don’t — I don’t —"

"You don’t what, Chris?"

"I don’t know how to make it _feel_ good. The rest of me does, but now that I’m here I don’t know how to make _this_ part feel good."

Tobin waited.

"… Can you tell me how? Please?"

_Hold up._

"What?"

Christen leaned up on her elbows again, an anxious furrow and pout on her face that made Tobin’s heart do things but this was….

"Can you just… walk me through it? Can we do it together, please? I really really really want this to work but I’m nervous and I don’t know how to make this _work_ , Tobin. How to make this good. Please?"

_Oh God oh God oh God say no Tobin say no._

"Like I do it over here and you copy?"

"Yeah. You just talk me through it. What you’re doing to make it feel good and I’ll follow along."

_Say no. Tobin. TOBIN! Tobin, NO. Tobin —_

"Uh, ok. Yeah. I can do that."

The relief on Christen’s face was palpable and her breath released in a precipitous rush. " _Thank you._ "

 _"_ Yeah. Um…" Tobin leaned back on her own elbows. "I guess we’ll just… um, both lay back."

This was such a bad idea. This was too close to something Tobin tried to starve years ago. And maybe she could have said no if it wasn’t _this._ Wasn’t Christen soft and vulnerable, asking for help even at something that made her tremble. That she wanted _Tobin_ to help her.

"Ok, how about we start… um…"

Christen’s head was flopped to the side, looking at her, waiting.

 _God._ It showed on her face. She knew it must be showing on her face.

"… We don’t have to do this, Tobin. Not if you’re uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I should’ve — You can say no. Really."

Tobin puffed out her cheeks, lips pursed to let the air out. Squinched her eyes. "No. No, it’s ok. I mean, of course it’s awkward. But I want to help."

_Pull yourself together._

"I want you to be able to have this. So let’s do it."

Christen nodded, wide-eyed. Tentative. Receptive.

Tobin turned her head toward the ceiling.

"Ok, I normally start by — well…"

"You normally start how?"

"Well, honestly, I normally take my top off. I get too hot and it gets in the way. But we don’t —"

"It’s fine. I’m fine if you’re fine. You’ve seen me naked anyways."

Tobin gulped.

Green eyes peered over and at the lack of disagreement from the midfielder, the woman’s arms slipped behind her own back, pulling at a tie. With one apprehensive glance and a steady hold of her forearm against her chest, Christen loosened the tie at her neck next and tugged the bikini out from under her arm; then lowered the angles of her scapula back into the quilt.

Let her covering arm now drop to the side.

Tobin’s throat was hot and itchy at the sight of Christen’s breasts, nipples dark and straining from the summit of the mahogany circles of pebbled skin around them. The lines of her ribs were prominent at the side, like arrows pointing to the mountain topography of her body.

She took a deep breath, then pulled her own jacuzzi-damp sportswear top off quickly and leaned back into the quilt; tried not to wonder if Christen was comparing the hue of their aureolas. The pink and the brown lofting equally up and away from their bodies.

"So, I normally start with my face. Tracing the edges. Touching my lips."

With a brief and quickly aborted tilt of her head, she could see Christen reaching up to obey.

_Maybe don’t watch._

"Do what feels good. Sometimes I want to trace my neck lightly. Sometimes I want to push my fingers in and make fists in my hair - pull it just a little harsh - enough to make it sting for a second."

_Don’t look. Don’t look._

She let the quiet sounds in the bed next to her continue for a little. Waited until they paused.

"Then I let my hands come down a little. Nowhere important yet. But run a nail down your sides. Drag against your stomach. Whatever you want." She did so, feeling the shiver of her abdomen as she let her nails catch harder than she normally would. "…Then," a swallow, "I like to run a finger along the underside of my chest - just enough that the top of my finger grazes the incline. Your body can tell. It will feel good. Try it."

A small inhale. That probably meant it was working. That Christen was —

_Don’t look._

"Now … put your thumb in your mouth and … make it wet with your tongue. Maybe drag your lip down with it, just to feel it. Swipe it across a few times. Then, wet it again." … "Is it wet?"

A gasp emerged, a second of shock at the call to verbally check in. Then gravel: "…Yeah. Yeah, it’s wet."

"Circle your nipple with it lightly. Maybe do it again, till it’s a bit slick." She paused again. Breathed. "Now pinch it. Any pressure you like."

_SHIT SHIT SHIT._

Tobin had looked. Christen was pulling at her nipple with the pad of her thumb and the second knuckle of her pointer finger. Her perfect pink lips were open in a little hissing inhale as her head pushed back, lifting her shoulders off the quilt. The arch of her back made her stomach look so small, so muscled and Tobin’s mouth went completely dry.

_THIS IS WHY WE DON’T LOOK._

"Good," she choked out, clearing her throat briefly.

She wasn’t even touching herself anymore. Just trying to get in enough oxygen to continue living; hand hung limp over the peak of a hipbone.

"Sometimes I," she cleared the remnant of the rocks in her throat "do that for a little while, but we touched you" _breathe Tobin_ "for a while now so you might be ready." _Don’t say ready._ "Last thing is to trace the inside of your thighs. Delicate. Not hard on this one. So light that you can imagine it’s someone breathing down there."

There was a suck like Christen might have tucked a lip between her teeth.

"And when your body feels like it can’t wait anymore, slip it under the hem."

Tobin actually obeyed this time, fingers nudging at the elastic until they could form a gap to pass through, brushing briefly through the thatch of hair she’d never had a reason to groom before.

"I like to keep the underwear on because…" she inhaled sharply, then tried to cover it with a small cough, "the brush of it against my skin helps me … make believe."

Her hand crept inexorably forward, mouth now instinctually narrating the descent.

"Slowly go down… just touch everything for a moment. The lips; the sides; hair, if you have any. Learn it until it feels familiar."

Her eyes were clenched so firmly shut that not even light could get through, bursts of white and yellow coming only from the pressure.

"And then put just one finger on your clit. Circle it — lightly. More later but lightly right now." She could feel it so much already. So intensely. "You can wet it in your mouth again if it helps."

 _I certainly don’t need it._

Tobin heard a damp little click and suck from the other bed and found herself choking back a moan, brutalizing her bottom lip in the effort.

"Ok. Good. Now circle it again, faster when it starts to feel good." She could hear the rubbing of her own underwear over the skin of her hand, moving so rapidly already. "When it starts to feel like you’re slipping, bring a second finger up to run over it too. Circles still, and then little pinches in between if it feels good."

God, she was so close. But Christen couldn’t hear this. Hear the sound of her coming. Hear the name she might moan.

She tried to slow the pace of her hand but she was so slick already. She was so we—

_Wait, was that…?_

The last thing she expected to hear graveled from the other bed a _second_ time:

" _Tobin_."

Tobin’s entire circulatory system flipped upside down, blood rushing in a panicked thrill.

_Why is she saying my name?_

_"_ Fuck, _Tobin_!"

_Calm the fuck down, Tobin._

She wrenched her hand from her underwear, eyes flying to the topless and gasping woman leaned up on an elbow, exposing the full glory of her chest to the trembling brunette.

"What?!"

Christen lofted a shiny hand into the air. Amazement was glittering through her sparkling eyes.

"I’m wet!"

* * *

**7/25/16  
** **Portland, Oregon  
 **5 days before the flight to Rio****

"Christen! Good to hear from you!"

"Hey Tobs. It’s good to — hey, shh, down girl." Tobin can hear a commotion on the other end; it sounds like the clip of dog nails sliding on a floor. "Sorry. Morena — down." There’s a shuffling on the line. "She’s just excited for her walk. I figured you could come with us as we go! Right girl?!" Christen’s voice has turned into baby talk by this point, kissing noises popping from her phone like bubbles. "Who’s a good girl? Who? YOU are, sweetheart. You are!"

Tobin laughs. She can hear the panting of a happy dog, nails still scratching in the prance of a pup with too-soft paws for linoleum floors.

"I’m jealous! Is it nice there? Because it’s pouring here."

"Hm?" … the sound of a door… a slight uptick in the ambient noises of traffic. "Oh, yeah. It’s perfect. 85. Blue skies. We’re going to walk down to the beach, right, hun? That’s right!"

"Sounds perfect."

"I’ll admit, it really is nice to be home for a bit. Home-cooked meals. The pups. I’m so glad we got a few days before the flight to Rio."

"Me too. Are your folks going to be there?"

"Only for the semifinal and final. It was too hard to get off work for longer."

"Yeah, same."

Tobin could hear the noise shift again, traffic sinking into the sound of wind. Probably walking down the cliff steps to the beach, if she were guessing. A happy bark echoed tinnily through her phone speaker.

"Ok, hold on, let me just take her off her— … Ok. We’re good. Wow, there’s hardly anybody here, it’s insane."

"How are the waves?"

"The beach by my parent’s house isn’t the best for that actually. Too calm between the cliffs on either side. Perfect for morning yoga though."

"Ug, gross."

Christen laughed, sounding just a bit far away. Tobin pressed her ear harder against the phone, wedging the other against the edge of the couch so the patter of rain would be dampened a bit.

"You’ll have to come visit sometime. I’ll prove it to you. The setting would make a sunrise-yoga believer out of anyone, even you."

"It’s the west coast, Christen. You don’t get sunrises. You get sunsets."

"Morning is morning, Tobin. Especially over a beach." She _sounds_ happy. She sounds like a beach under a blue sky should sound.

"We’ll see."

There’s a lull. Not uncomfortable. Just quiet. Christen must be close enough to the water now because Tobin can hear the waves rolling onto the sand. Not crashes but watery mumbles. Perfect for dipping your feet in.

"So, I have some good news."

Tobin hums with her eyes closed, fingers brushing the twill of the couch blindly by her feet. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I had a check-in with my therapist. She was really impressed with my physical therapy and how far it’s gotten. Like, legitimate arousal — how insane is that, Tobin?!" Her laugh tumbled like champagne down crystal: sparkling and effervescent.

"That’s great, Chris."

"Yeah…" Tobin thinks maybe Christen is throwing a stick. The sound of a panting dog present, then gone just as quickly, matched with a small huff from Christen. The same whenever she takes a PK. The motion of a swing and follow through. "Yeah, it’s more progress than I’ve made in years." A pause. "…I hope you know that you’re a big part of that."

Tobin can’t help but flush, readjusting her legs under her to lean back against the arm of the couch a bit more. "I haven’t done that much."

A scoff. "Tobin…" then another pause. One that sits low in Tobin’s gut, twisting slightly. "Well, even so, it was enough. You’re the only factor that has changed. And it’s working. Finally. So whether you think you did something or not, I’m grateful." Tobin digs a heel into the couch, stretching her leg out slowly.

"There’s more."

The rain is starting to lessen a bit outside. The sort of moment where there is still plenty falling, but everything is lit up brighter, sparkling, and you can tell that somewhere higher clouds are starting to move.

"More?"

"She says she wants me to try to take it to the next level in my last few days here. Try going out and meeting someone. Not for sex but… more than I’ve let myself before. Sort of dipping my toes in the water. Kissing. Foreplay. Seeing if I can make a connection and figure out what it looks like to start taking physical steps of intimacy again."

"That’s…" _words. What are words._ "… Um, that’s something. How do you feel about that?" Tobin works both heels into the cushions now, scrunching up the taut fabric as it shoves against the far arm.

She can hear Christen breathing harder and the movement of air over the phone, like she’s doing something with her hands. Wrestling a stick from Morena? There’s another small huff, and things calm.

"I mean… Scared. Hopeful. Anxious. Excited. I didn’t think this would be _possible_ for me, you know? I told you that. Like, what would even be the point of connecting with someone if I couldn’t do _that_ you know? But recently, I’ve felt so much more hopeful! Like there are alternatives that really do count for something."

Tobin hates that her gut is churning right now. Hates how chipper the other woman sounds. _This is a good thing, Tobin._

 _"_ So, I want to try it. Give it a chance. Nothing crazy. Maybe just make out on a dance floor or… feel each other up in the bathroom or something, I don’t know. But I actually feel like maybe I could do that, you know?"

Tobin breathes long and deliberately. "That’s great, Chris. That’s really great."

There’s a series of noises that Tobin can somehow discern as Christen sitting, adjusting her phone against her ear differently as she props her elbows on her knees, toes digging in the sand, Tobin imagines.

"It is. It’s … I mean, it feels crazy to be excited about something other than the Olympics right now. They’re so close, but it feels like real life somehow. Not that winning isn’t. I just… I feel like I’m getting more _whole_."

Tobin’s foot pops the last cushion onto the floor accidentally, taking a moment to readjust it as she listens to Christen breathe on the other end.

"Tobin?"

"Yeah?

"I thought, maybe…"

Tobin can see it. The look Chris would be making right now. How her jaw would clench back and forth a few times. Then pulling her lower lip between her teeth. Always the left side. It was her _I want to say something but I don’t know if I should_ face _._ "Maybe what?"

"Maybe you should do it with me, Tobs."

 _What? What did that mean?_ "I’m sorry?"

"…Maybe you should do it too. You helped me believe I could actually have this - just maybe, you know? And I want to give that back to you, even a little if I can. You are SO capable of love, Tobin. I see it in so many ways. And you’re certainly deserving of it. Maybe you just have to give it a chance?"

_Why does this feel like this?God, I can’t stand it._

"What are you asking?"

"I’m not _asking_. I’m … I’m believing, you know? I want… I want you to have this. I want you to feel this. I know we’re not the same. That we have different stories. But maybe if you just go out too where you are — just _try —_ maybe something will happen, you know? Maybe you’ll meet —" Christen doesn’t finish, but Tobin doesn’t need her to.

"…I haven’t — I don’t —" Tobin swallows down a stone. "I feel like you’re telling me I haven’t tried, Christen. I feel like you’re telling me _I’m_ doing something wrong." Tobin hates that her voice is choking on the end; that Christen can hear it.

" _NO!_ No Tobin, that’s not what I mean at all!" 

Christen sounds panicked and a small hidden part of Tobin feels satisfied. Feels petty and vindictive. 

"I’m not trying to — I don’t—" Christen exhales loudly and the phone must be switching sides because everything sort of flops on the phone’s volume, and she can hear a hand running through Christen’s hair.

"I think you’re perfect, Tobin. And I think you deserve to be kissed. I think you deserve to be thoroughly, deeply, messily kissed with that teeth clacking, tongue on the back your teeth, energy in your stomach when you want nothing else other than to be in their arms and be touched and everything in you is consumed with it."

Tobin’s pelvis is pulsing low and constant, and it’s discomfort, and frustration, but it’s also tinged with an edge of arousal and she wants to kill it — to maim it — to lock it in a box and tie a kedge to it before tossing it in the Hudson.

"I’m not trying to say you’ve held yourself back, or you’re doing it wrong or — _anything_ like that. I’m … _trying_ to say that if I were a man in a bar and I saw you at the other end, I would want to make you feel good. Not for me. Not because I needed it. But because to look at you is to know that you deserve to feel good. To feel desired, Tobin. To have someone touch you just because you want them to."

_That pressure behind my ears — that pulsing — that rushing._

"Will you… will you try? Please? For me?"

Tobin wants to take every cushion off the couch and kick them. She wants to go out into the rain and tear the grass from the earth. She wants to dig her hands in the mud and _scream_.

"Yeah, Christen." Tobin sighs. "I can do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carli: … What are you two even doing in here?  
> Allie:  
> Kelley: Every machine is a smoke machine if you operate it wrong enough.  
> Carli: *facepalms*
> 
> Leave a comment: 1) What are your feels right now? 2) Which secondary character is your favorite and how do you want them to play in?


	6. Good Religion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss just under the left ribcage, Chris’s forearm undulating softly alongside Tobin’s face. Another kiss — tongue just flicking out — on the topmost right abdominal. Tobin could feel Christen’s motions, each little push down of her arm catching Tobin’s hair in the movement. A slow flick of her tongue in the woman’s bellybutton that had Christen whimper and Tobin glance up instantly. But Christen’s eyes were shut and her hand still moving. Tobin could see tight little circles with two fingers now she thinks, just like she’d taught h—
> 
> Yeah, let’s put a lid on that thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bygummit, y’all have done it again! Thank you for your PHENOMENAL response to the last chapter. Your insights and praises and laughs lifted me as high as the stars. You also succeeded in shattering my self-control all over again. So, fine! Fine! You can have the next chapter. Ya greedies.
> 
> Trigger warning: consensual sex with male that is then regretted.

Carli: Since when is babysitting this group my job?  
Ashlyn:  
Alex:  
Allie:  
Kelley:  
Kling:  
Lindsey:  
Becky across the room: * _rolls her eyes_ *  
Carli: Oh my god, — * _brings her hands to her cheeks_ * — it has always been my job.

* * *

**8/1/16  
**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
**Two days until the first Olympic game** ****

_She had found some old teammates who were back in Jersey to go out with. They’d insisted on making it like it was college again, all getting ready together and pregaming before hitting the bars. Tobin had shown up at Sarah’s house with some dark jeans and a shiny loose-necked blouse to wear with her black heels. By the time they were leaving she’d been coaxed into a black mini-dress from the depths of a closet, the girls labeling her outfit too 'casual' for the atmosphere they were aiming for. When Emily pulled Tobin into a chair backwards, tilting up her face to apply far more make-up than Tobin would ever choose normally, she felt oddly shivery. Like a different version of herself. Smoky eyes; sparkling highlights pronouncing the cut of her cheekbones and jaw; a dullish maroon lipstick with a layer of gloss over. She looked hot. She felt like a doll, but she was hot._

_Doll Tobin quieted Athlete Tobin and downed all three of the girls’ pre-game shots before hopping in the Uber to the club._

_When they arrived, it wasn’t quite as bad as she had imagined. There were plenty of spots to sit and not so many people that you couldn’t breathe. The music was loud and pulsing but not where you thought you might lose your hearing. The dance floor was well-populated with a hundred sweaty, attractive bodies jumping and sliding against one another. Tobin thought maybe she’d ease into that._

_The little squad posted up at a corner of the bar, picking their poisons while trading little memories about this game, or that tournament, or "remember when Tina told coach that no way would she play mid, she was made to be a striker, and he…"_

_A man slid up against the other angle of the bar, lifting a finger to the young white woman behind the taps. He eyed Tobin._

_"Hello."_

_Tobin startled up from Tina’s head pressed into the woodgrain, moaning at her childhood self._

_"Um, hi."_

_"I noticed you ladies when you came in. Bachelorette?"_

_"Oh, no, just some old friends getting together."_

_He nodded as an apron slid a Heineken his way._

_"I’m Chris." He held out his hand and Tobin shook it. It was large and warm, dwarfing hers easily._

_"I’m not looking to take you away from them, but I was wondering if you wanted to share a dance with me? I’ll be honest, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you." His eyes dipped below her chin, tracing what wasn’t obscured by the counter._

_Tobin could feel a flush spreading across her chest; tugged at the hem around her thighs instinctually._

_"Uh, well we’re still catching up right now but… maybe I can catch you later when we’re on the floor?"_

_He smiled easily, taking his weight off the bar but leaving a hand strong and solid against the edge, right near Tobin’s waist. She twisted slightly to face him._

_"I hope so. You look incredible tonight. Come find me if you want."_

_Suddenly, his body was right near hers, Tobin trapped between his arms as he reached across her other side to grab a toothpick from the little jar on the counter. She could smell his cologne — woodsy and sharp and it made her neck itch as he brushed her leaning back again. Toothpick between his lips, he smirked and nodded with one last and long appraisal before turning towards a table of guys gesturing and whooping loudly about something._

_Emily squealed and she jolted._

_"Tobin! He was handsome!"_

_Tobin watched as he walked away, confident and steady. He certainly was attractive. White button-up somehow still crisp-looking despite the damp of sweating bodies. His pants were fitted perfectly, and he was clearly strong. Not athlete strong, but gym strong. Like he cared about his body. Probably ate healthy too._

_"Yeah, he is."_

_"Are you going to dance with him?!"_

_She flushed. "Maybe later. I need a little more to drink first."_

_Both time and drink later, all the others had drifted throughout the room. She could spy Sarah and Lauren on the floor, dancing together but with a guy each behind them, hands gripped on their hips or waists as they moved. Emily had disappeared towards some corner booth when she saw an old friend. Maybe flame, Tobin couldn’t tell. Tina was God knows where. Probably already in a taxi to someone’s hotel. She settled both elbows on the bar, twirling the stick in the melting ice and seltzer._

_"Hey… I’m Jo, what’s your name?"_

_Oh. There was a woman now, two seats away. She was pretty. Blonde hair to her shoulders. Tight jeans and a crop top that somehow managed to look almost professional. Or at least not juvenile. She was a little taller that Tobin it seemed, though it could have been the killer heels. She looked kind of like Julie actually, if you were just comparing first impressions._

_"Tobin," she shouted slightly to be heard over the bass._

_The woman smiled in a cockeyed way, pulling it off with surprising charm._

_"Interesting name, Tobin. I like it."_

_"Well, Jo isn’t too common either. Is it…?"_

_"Joanna, yeah. Not too wild, but Jo does the job." She took a sip out of her whiskey, swallowing languidly before resting her chin in her hand. Tobin hummed, fiddling the stick again, and Jo’s eyes flicked to her glass._

_"Can I get you another? What are you drinking?"_

_"Oh, you don’t have to do that, I —"_

_A hand landed on her arm, thumb rubbing just slightly against the underside. "I know I don’t have to. I’m asking if you’d like some company."_

_Oh._

_"Um… yeah, sure. That’d be… yeah."_

_Jo slid a few inches closer, then craned her head for the bartender. "Whatever the lady likes," pointing at the mostly empty glass. Tobin could feel heat on the back of her neck and on her arm where the weight of the palm was lingering in her senses._

_"Are you from around here, Tobin?"_

_"Grew up in the area, but I’m based out of Portland now. I’m just back visiting family for the weekend."_

_"Portland is far. But cool I hear? Very trendy."_

_"Yeah, definitely. It’s cool. Trendy in an earth way sort of. Coffee. Hiking. Art. It’s good."_

_"And what do you do there?"_

_Tobin never knew how this would go._

_"Professional athlete. Soccer."_

_The woman’s eyes widened. "Wow! That’s awesome. You have to work really hard for that. You must be really committed." Blue irises flicked downward and Tobin could feel a pressure begin in her abdomen. "… You certainly have the body of an athlete."_

_Tobin flushed. She knew she looked good. The heels were showing off the sharp lines of her calves, and every soccer player has a butt, whether they wanted one or not. And the dress didn’t leave too much to the imagination when it came to shape, even if the cut wasn’t too ridiculously deep._

_"… Thanks."_

_Jo smiled."You’re pretty new at this aren’t you, Tobin."_

_The pressure grew. Jo’s body was leaning towards her. Not so close as to be invasive. But present, and reaching. Like it was inviting Tobin to lean in too._

_"New to what?"_

_"To having women chat you up in bars."_

_Tobin knew Jo could see it in her cheeks. Ducked her chin slightly for a brief reprieve from those bright and smiling eyes._

_"Yeah, between schedules and diet restrictions, I’ll admit I’m not at bars much. This is sort of a last hurrah before a … big season coming up on the field."_

_"And the women?" Jo’s head cocked. Gentle smile ever present._

_"Um… also… new."_

_The woman slid closer, hand back on Tobin’s arm, the other still supporting her chin as it propped up on the bar._

_"Is this ok?" Fingers danced up her arm and back down again._

_"… Yeah" —_ too breathless, Tobin _. She cleared her throat. — "Um, yeah, that’s ok."_

_Even over the many mixing scents in the room, she could smell her. Perfume — Tobin didn’t know the name. But it was sweet and light and somehow cut through the other aromas in spite of its gentleness. Because of its gentleness._

_"I’m going to be upfront, Tobin, because I find that helps everyone to feel comfortable and get what they want from a night." Her head finally lofted from her now-vacated palm. Freed up, the one near the bar perched on Tobin’s arm while the other had settled light but solid on Tobin’s hip. Their pelvises were inches away from one another, bodies bowed back just slightly as Jo looked at her deliberately and full._

_"I find you incredibly beautiful, Tobin, and I would love to share the night with you. I know you’re from out of town, and I’m not looking for a relationship anyway. So it would just be a night of whatever we wanted it to be." Her eyes traveled down Tobin’s body slowly, appreciatively, then back up as the hand on her hip slid forward slightly to rest against Tobin’s stomach, fingers scratching lightly near her bellybutton. "I’m hoping that you’ll want to come to my place tonight and see what it’s like to share a bed with a woman for a change… and I would love to show you what that can mean."_

_She drifted closer, lips tilting near Tobin’s mouth (parting instinctually in response) but not making contact, teasing instead around to Tobin’s right ear. Then, ever so lightly, Jo sucked just the tip of Tobin’s earlobe into her mouth._

_Tobin’s entire stomach was trembling on the inside, butterflies or — fucking parrots or something trapped in there as a direct line was drawn to a place between her legs._

_The woman’s nose nudged the shell of her ear, breath hot and glancing at the center. "The moment I saw you I was wet, Tobin. Do you think," a nip to the tragus that almost buckled the soccer player’s knees, "just maybe," a kiss to soothe it, "you might be wet for me too?"_

_Fucking Christ._

_Tobin panted, frozen even as she trembled, because YES she was wet, she was absolutely wet and — fuck fuck fuck — this was too much, it was too — Tobin had tried so hard to not think about these things. About women’s bodies. About how sweet they smelled. About the softness of their hair and their lips and how it might feel to have their tongue on you. To then taste it on their lips. To put your tongue on th— FUCK — this needed to stop. This needed to stop NOW._

_Tobin jolted back, pulling her arm out of its gentle captor. She couldn’t even speak, just shook her head a little, eyes huge and frightened._

_The blonde smiled a little ruefully. "Ah, not the time then. …I’m disappointed, I’ll admit." She offered one last lingering, journeying gaze over Tobin’s frame. "I hope you figure yourself out, Tobin." And with a slow and perfume-gilded approach, she placed a sincere kiss at the corner of the brunette’s mouth before walking away._

_Tobin’s lips fizzled with electricity. Her head was a storm cloud._

_2 and a half minutes later, Tobin had downed two more shots of vodka, Olympics be damned._

_3 minutes after that, she had found Chris and motioned him onto the floor with her._

_4 songs later, his hands were rubbing her over her dress, causing her hips to make staggering little jumps each time he hit her clit — his body present and pressing against her ass._

_25 minutes later she’d sent a text to her friends that she’d found someone to spend the night with, texting the address just in case as the Uber pulled up, Chris’s hand hot and heavy on her thigh as his finger inched under the hemline._

_90 minutes later, Tobin was close to hyperventilating in the strange bathroom, Chris sleeping soundly and satisfied in his bed on the other side of the door. Tobin pulled herself up from her collapsed position over the sink, turned on the tap and grabbed a clean washcloth. Dampening it under the warm stream, she brought it between her legs, desperate to clean off her own slick. Clean off their sweat. The precum from where he’d ground through her lips before grabbing a condom for the real deal. Her hand trembled as she ran it over herself again and again. Then over her nipples, sticky with alcohol laden mouthings; down her abs that he’d bit and sucked before grabbing "her epic ass"._

_Her dress, reclaimed from a corner, clung to her body like smoke, like smoke after a fire, and she couldn’t find her underwear. Didn’t want to find it honestly, except for that terrible feeling of exposure, of vulnerability from being without. But it would be wet too. Wet with — wet FROM someone else and — Tobin threw her body to the toilet, heaving dryly. FUCK, this was not what this was supposed to be. She shouldn’t have done this. She shouldn’t have this stretching ache inside of her from a body attached to a man she cared nothing about. Her skin felt dirty. She felt dirty, and stretched. She felt like crying. She hated that she’d fucking orgasmed. She wanted to crawl outside of her skin and leave it on that bathroom floor. Every dirty part of her like her underwear lost somewhere in the dark. Tobin shivered — pulled her dress down as far as it would stretch._

_90 seconds later she was staring hard at herself in the mirror._

_And 2 minutes after that she was sneaking out the door, careful not to wake him as she inched it slowly, definitively shut._

"...Tobin?"

"I, uh… yeah, it didn’t work for me either."

Christen hummed in sympathy. "I’m sorry, I know I was the one who told you to try it in the first place. I really shouldn’t have done that - I hate that you thought I was blaming you for … whatever that came across as." She chuckled drily. Ran a hand through her hair a bit too rough, and winced. "I just want you to be happy, Tobs. So don’t feel bad that it didn’t happen. That one’s on me."

Tobin kept unpacking her suitcase into the hotel dresser drawer, organs flopping places inside her.

"Chris, I was thinking…" She spun to lean against the wood; this was the sort of statement you faced each other with, even if your eyes were glued to your shoes.

"Yeah?"

She tucked a lock behind her ear. Kicked at the carpet. "Well, we’ll be here a whole month probably. And we’ll be too busy with training and the games to go out anywhere…"

"God, yeah I wouldn’t go out even if we could. Everyone one is here for the games so the chances of being recognized are too high. I don’t like it when I feel observed in a bar. Like, are they going to take pictures of me? Post them online? Write a blog post about what I drink and the dark underpinnings of why or some crap?"

"Right! So." Tobin took a deep breath but tried to make it as noiseless as possible, glancing up to find examining eyes. "So, how about we just … do it."

"… Do what?"

"Do your therapy. It’ll be like before. But just a little… stepped up, I guess. You already trust me, and you won’t have to be worried about me expecting more."

Christen was staring at her with an unreadable expression and Tobin found her pace increasing.

"And we just adjust it however you want! Like instead of just touching what’s not covered, we can make it kissing. Or you can wear less clothes so it’s closer to the real thing. Or you … you get yourself off _during_ instead of after. You’re - we’re - into guys anyway so it’ll just be … this. It’s just the next step, right? And I’m here, and you’re here, so why not help you keep going?"

A glossy head quirked, those eyes still evaluating in a way that made Tobin shiver. "Are you sure you’d be ok with that? I mean, this involves you too, Tobin, and I don’t want anything to make you uncomfortable. Have you thought about this?"

"Yes! I mean — well, no, not a lot. But I don’t need to. It’s fine, Christen. It’s just touching right? It’s not like we’re having sex. We can both imagine whoever we want and it’ll be just like… practice."

"So you’re saying you would be comfortable… kissing me in addition to the touching? You’d be comfortable with me touching myself during that?"

Tobin gulped. "I mean… maybe just not on the mouth? That feels a little too far, maybe. But yeah, everything else is just skin right? Like kissing my wrist or something. And I already hold you when you… you know. So now it’ll just be while I’m doing something too."

Christen looked thoughtful and a little concerned. Tobin felt her gut twist.

"We don’t have to! We can just stop. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you—"

"TOBIN."

Tobin froze.

"I’m not… I’m not saying no. I’m just. Adjusting to the idea." Christen nodded, brow furrowed. Rubbed her palms against her sweatpants before shoving them in her hoodie pocket. "Ok. Ok, yeah. And I do trust you. So how about we just… we’ll start like normal and when… _if_ it feels ok, we just press a little further than before. And I’ll see what it’s like to try… during it. Right?"

Tobin nodded.Trying her best to appear nonchalant. "Right. Same thing as before. Just a little adjusted for your… progress."

"Ok…"

Tobin felt like a book under those peering eyes — wondered what Christen was reading on her.

"Ok, let’s do it. Couldn’t hurt to try."

So they both nodded at each other and found other things to do, unpacking bags and testing A/C and texting siblings. Tobin’s eyes kept tracing back to Christen every once and a while - like an impulse.Like that missing tooth feeling where you can’t stop your tongue running past the gap. A presence in her gut made even more pronounced by the fact that it was undefined. She couldn’t define it. She refused to define it.

She shoved the feeling down. They had the Olympics to win, and she’d be damned if she let her twisting pit of wrongness and something that tasted like shame distract from getting her head in the game. It was fine. She was fine.

_It will be fine._

* * *

**8/3/16**

**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
**Olympic Games #1- US v New Zealand (2-0)  
**Goals: Lloyd, Morgan** ****

"We don’t have to do any more than this. What we’ve been doing. We can stop at the touching."

Christen was silent a moment, jaw clenching back and forth.

"…I’m not a quitter, Tobin. This has been working so far and — I just — just give me a moment."

Tobin inhaled for several tense seconds.

Christen roughed her hands through her hair, then brought them down to cover her eyes. "I’m not quitting if you aren’t."

Tobin licked her lips uncomfortably. Bit the top one."This is just practice so that someone you want to do this with later can.Right? We’re just helping you be able to have a relationship one day?"

Christen chuckled but it was a dark sound: purple and bruising.

"Yeah, Tobs, it’s just practice."

Tobin held her breath for a few seconds, then released it in a rush.

She let her body slide backwards off the bed so she was kneeling at the edge.

"Then try to imagine someone you like. Keep your eyes closed and … you try to see what you can do while I keep going."

Christen huffed a bit of a dour chuckle but, in the long-honed discipline of regulated calm, removed her hands from her eyes and released one long breath through pursed lips.

Tobin grasped the outside of Christen’s right ankle with a gentle hand.

She pressed her lips to the bone right on the inside with a light kiss.

She turned the other direction and kissed Christen’s left calf just a little below the midline.

"You’ve got this, Chris. Go ahead."

The woman in question clenched her fists briefly in the quilt to either side. After a long few seconds, Tobin’s lips remaining pressed against her calf as she waited, Christen fumbled her right hand into her underwear. "Good job, Chris. You’re doing so good."

Tobin raised herself up, stomach pressing into the edge of the bed to lay her lips a little farther up on the inside of her knee. Another right next to it.

Christen’s hand started making tiny circles, the purple cotton obscuring the details but unable to hide the motion.

Tobin pulled herself up further, torso now resting between both calves; she looked at the smooth skin of Christen’s thighs, both clenching on and off as Christen spread her legs a little wider. There was a light bruise on the right one and Tobin lingered a fraction off the skin just breathing warmly on it. Then pressed her lips against it. Above, halfway up the inside of her thigh, she dragged both sets of teeth towards one another in a whisper of a bite, then a light lick of tongue before another petal of a kiss. A peck above, then above, closer and closer to that line.

Christen whined.

The other thigh got a long slow drag of Tobin’s lower front teeth all the way up from her knee to where the inside line of the thigh just started to curve in again; Tobin’s nose coming dangerously close to meeting that moving fabric. Then a soft lick ( _smooth smooth so smooth_ ) and what was more a mashing of an open mouth than a kiss at the spot. Tobin panted a little bit in her anxiety and _god we need to turn on the a/c_ except Christen’s arm was prickling, she could spy it, but _hot it’s too hot._

Tobin lifted her body up so that it was no longer touching Christen’s; moved up to place knees against the inside of the other woman’s and tried not to stare at the thinly covered hand still circling. She leaned down to those perfect flexing abs instead.

A kiss just under the left ribcage, Chris’s forearm undulating softly alongside Tobin’s face. Another kiss — tongue just flicking out — on the topmost right abdominal. Tobin could feel Christen’s motions, each little push down of her arm catching Tobin’s hair in the movement. A slow flick of her tongue in the woman’s bellybutton that had Christen whimper and Tobin glance up instantly. But Christen’s eyes were shut and her hand still moving.Tobin could see tight little circles with two fingers now she thinks, just like she’d taught h—

_Yeah, let’s put a lid on that thought._

Tobin kissed Chris’s flexing forearm.

"You’re safe with me, Chris. Relax. Just let it feel good." The forward was releasing short and sharp huffs of breath from her nose, shoulders shrugging backwards every so often as her body began to respond as a whole to the movements of her arm.

Tobin pressed her lips just at the top of the forward’s underwear, right above the tent made by Christen’s twisting wrist, and the woman’s hips vaulted. Tobin ran her nose from the top of her bellybutton to her bra in response. Another kiss just above the bit of fabric keeping the two triangles of the thin sportsbra covering her chest united.

She walked her hands up further along Christen’s sides, near her shoulders. Her hair fell onto the woman’s chest as Tobin leaned down, kissing little tiny pecks along the sloping vee of the fabric. A small bite right at the swell of Christen’s left breast that had the woman kick a leg out and whine again. Then just a short stretch to the collarbone which Tobin sucked lightly. Salt. Both of the women covered in a sheen of sweat.

The sound of Christen’s hand had shifted from the scratch of fabric against skin, and skin brushing hair. A little discordant note had entered and it took Tobin a second to place. _Wet. So wet I can hear it on her. Christ._

_Head in the game, Tobin. Don’t think about it._

Finally, she leaned over Christen’s torso, flicking her hair over her right shoulder so it wouldn’t fall in the woman’s face, though mostly unsuccessfully, and tilted to get her mouth to a spot right under Christen’s left ear, sucking lightly enough to leave no marks. Tobin could almost feel the brush of Christen’s knuckles, separated only by cotton and a fraction of space until Tobin’s own sleep shorts hovering above.With one last drag of her nose up the length of the forward’s neck, Tobin pushed herself up fully on both arms to look down at a heaving chest, nipples tenting under the white cotton.

"Chris?"

The woman eyes were clenched shut, mouth open and chin lifting as the woman arched her back slightly, silently.

Tobin rubbed a thumb slow across the other woman’s temple.

Green eyes opened beneath heavy lashes.

What followed was unbidden.

"…Come for me, Chris." _Shit, should I have said that? Was that allowed? Should —_

She was pulled out of her head by the probing stare. For an oceanic three seconds they just looked at one another (cotton-covered fingers frozen below their field of vision).

Christen’s eyes slammed shut again, hand restarting furiously and shoulders fighting for purchase on the quilt as her spine thrust her body up, time suddenly crashing in on itself and folding over till everything felt like it was happening at once, Christen’s chest brushing briefly against Tobin’s own with an arch as that mouth panted, panted. Hands and twisting and a jaw opening, abdomen fluttering as —

With a cry and a violent twist, Christen spasmed in the air for a long second then collapsed onto the bed.

Tobin couldn’t move, locked on all fours over the trembling body.

Christen sucked in a desperate inhale; breathed it out shakily. Then again. Slowly, long, like something from the yoga she was always trying to get Tobin to do. Lifted those charcoal lashes and peered into the burnt sugar eyes currently frantic - searching Christen’s face for any evidence of the woman’s emotional state.

Long arms reached up to wrap around Tobin’s back and pulled the frame into a slumping mass on top of her, body weight and all, foot to shoulder.

Tobin let out a small oof.

_We’re… hugging?_

"Thanks, Tobs" breathed against her cheek.

Tobin let herself be held, nuzzling below Christen’s ear, the skin still lightly damp from her own mouth.

"…You deserve to share this with someone, Chris. You really do."

For a long time, the two women just breathed, one beneath the other. Tobin lost track of the time they laid there.

But eventually Christen tilted slightly, rolling Tobin off to her side. The black woman nudged her nose against Tobin’s then pressed their foreheads together, a few hot breaths mixing in the space between their lips.

Then she was pulling away again, but just to bring a hand near Tobin’s cheek, the brunette’s eyelashes fluttering as a thumb swiped across her lower lip.

_I wish it was the other hand._

Tobin slammed that heavy door in her brain.

Christen’s eyes searched hers in the dark. Glanced down at Tobin’s parted, slightly swollen lips.

"Tobin… "

Tobin stopped breathing.

"Um…" She pulled her hand away. "Your lips are chapped."

Then Christen rolled to the edge of the bed, grabbed her pajamas and stepped straight into the bathroom to change, the door a quiet click behind her.

Tobin rolled over bodily, a hook fastened in her stomach, pulling her to the floor.

She snuck a hand down her shorts.

Shit.

_SHIT._

* * *

**8/6/16  
**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
**Olympic Games #2: US v France (1-0)  
**Goals: Lloyd** ******

"Chris?"

"Yeah, baby?" Christen’s hands thread carefully through Mal’s hair, separating coarse strands for a braid, the light illuminating a twinkling sheen. Mal’s hair felt just like her sister’s and it set off a sudden pang of longing for home in her throat.

"…I’m really glad Tobin found out that day."

"That so?"

"Yeah." The girl was holding stiff and still, obedient to the deft motions at her head, but Christen could tell she was thinking deeply about something.

"She checks in on me sometimes. Not in a invasive way. Just checking. It’s nice."

Christen just hummed as she finished up one side, sliding a band off her wrist to tie it off. She pivoted Mal’s head to the left, fingertips slipping into her hairline to gather the loose wave.

"Do you like her, Chris?"

"I like her a lot, babylove. She’s a good friend." 

Now it was Mal’s turn to hum, eyelashes fluttering lightly as she gave in to the meditative quiet of someone else’s hands in your hair. But Chris could tell by the slight twist in her mouth and the restlessness in her hands that, just maybe, Mal was asking something else.

* * *

**8/9/16  
**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
**Olympic Games #3: US v Colombia (2-2)  
**Goals: Dunn, Pugh  
**Note: Pugh scores in the 59 th minute, becoming the youngest U.S. player to score a goal in the Olympics.** ********

They were all in the locker room early, trying to both relax and get on the same page as a team before the chaos of processionals and anthems and crowds.

"Ok, Becky, I think I found one you’ll like!" Allie held out her phone with a hopeful grin, hands gripped at her knees as the defender took the device with a frown, glaring like it might turn into a snake. She pressed the screen with her thumb, just a second passing before a chord and then — "Is there anything better than pussy? YES … a really good book."

Allie pressed her teeth into her bottom lip, the corners of her mouth pulling back to show her canines.

Becky’s stoicism shook at a crinkle in her eye, crumbled at the quirk of her lips, and, finally, collapsed in an avalanche of giggles.

"Ok fine, I like that one."

Allie leapt with a fist in the air.

"FINALLY!"

Tobin flinched away from the scene when a shadow entered her peripheral vision.

"Geeze, it’s just me, jumpy."

The hand approached again, a thumb sliding out to swipe across the fullness of Tobin’s lower lip and the midfielder froze - suspended in every way but a heartbeat, currently pumping franticly in her chest.

_Shh._

"Tobin, I swear your lips are eternally chapped."

Reaching in to the outside pocket of her game duffel, she pulled out a lip balm, uncapped and lifted it, eyes flicking briefly to suddenly expanded pupils.

"Open your mouth."

Tobin complied, though largely in the pressing need for a silent gasp than any innate obedience.

Christen swiped the chapstick deftly once, twice. Rubbed her thumb dangerously near the corner of Tobin’s mouth where the balm had gone a touch too far.

Then nodded to herself. "Good."

Tobin gulped.

A theatric gasp erupted from the nearby bench. "Oh my God, they were ROOMMATES."

Tobin squeaked and spun. "Shut up, Allie!"

"Since when did you start carrying lip balm, Chrissy?"

"Shut up, Kelley."

When their eyes met, both Tobin and Christen looked away. But, magnets, they came back and like the slow then sudden rising of the sun over the ocean, they smiled.

Tobin’s stomach twisted.

_You’ve got to stop this._

* * *

**8/10/16  
**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
**Two days before the Quarterfinal** ****

Christen yawned, curls springing up in their release from the press of a pillow. "What are you doing?"

Tobin was shuffling around the room, clearly packing a bag for something.

"I’m just going out, go back to sleep."

"It’s 7 in the morning and we’re on half days. Practice isn’t till 3."

Tobin grabbed her Bible and her sunglasses off her nightstand, tucking them in the small Nike backpack hanging from one shoulder. "I wanted to go to church. There’s an international one in the area with an English service."

Christen rubbed the sleep out of her eyes; swung her feet to the floor. "I’ll come with you."

"You don’t have to do that. Go back to bed. I know you woke up last night. 3am was it?"

The woman stretched, a sliver of abs flashing into Tobin’s vision, and Tobin gulped. _YUP, I’m out._ She grabbed a snapback and pulled the hair out of her face before tucking it on backwards.

"It’s fine. Just wait a second, I’ll throw on some clothes. It’ll be quick."

"You really don’t have to Chris, I know church isn’t your thing."

"You not being alone in a foreign city is my thing."

Tobin shoved her hands in her pockets, rocking back and forth on her heels.

"Besides, I like all spiritual things. There’s truth everywhere. It’ll be fun."

"…Chris…"

" _To-bin"_ the woman volleyed back.

_…Dammit._

Tobin couldn’t help but crack a smile.

It sent Christen into an even wider one of her own. "Pushover," she teased, green eyes dancing. _"_ Ok! _"_

The woman hopped up to her feet, a hand running quickly through her hair. "Give me five minutes, and we’ll go on an adventure!"

As the door closed and the sounds of water and brushing teeth snuck through the edges, Tobin fell backwards onto her bed with a sigh, catching her hat at the last moment before smashing the brim. _Pushover indeed._

Two quick breakfast sandwiches from the athlete’s cafe, Christen flagging down a taxi and reviving her college Spanish to ask for their destination ("They speak Portuguese, Chris." "It’ll work. It’s close enough."), and a 20 minute drive through a vibrant and awakening city later, Tobin and Christen arrived at what looked far more like an office building than a church. But smiling and well-dressed people were trickling inside, a mix of languages becoming evident in the crowd.

"This is cool," Christen smiled. "Should we go in?"

Tobin glanced down at her clothes, regretting not wearing a button up. She pulled her snapback off and unzipped her bag, shoving it in gracelessly. When she pulled back up, Christen laughed. "You messed up your hair." Two delicate hands _—her wrists are so small_ _—_ pushed fingers first into her hairline, brushing back and detangling strands as they went. It was quick and silly, ending with Christen tucking a honeyed lock behind her ear with a goofy grin.

Tobin wanted so much more.

She swallowed hard."Thanks. Er… yeah, lets go."

Inside was what looked sort of like a hotel meeting room. Long and rectangular, spare in its decoration but busy. There was a portable sound booth in the back and chairs set up in lines for at least 10 rows. A white man was strumming a guitar in the front, a beautiful Latina woman, maybe in her 40’s adjusting the mic beside him.

"Olá, a bem-vindo à capela de Cristo Rio. Hello, and welcome to Christ’s Chapel Rio. I see several new faces in here today, and we want you to know that you are most welcome! This is a non-denominational Christian church where any are free to worship. I am Maria Sousa and I am the lead pastor here. We are going to step into a time of worship through song. Feel free to sit, stand, sing, dance as you desire. There are headphones in the back if you need them — we have translations in Japanese and French this service that will be live from some of our volunteers for every part of the liturgy."

The woman’s chin tilted and Tobin followed it to find a little room set up in the corner with clear plastic walls. Two women with a headset and microphone each waved briskly at the crowd. Tobin could already see several people in the audience now with matching headsets, clearly experienced with the offerings here.

"There will be a time of worship, corporate prayer, an offering for anyone willing to give, and then a message. Of course, coffee and pastels available for anyone who wants to mingle afterwards! We hope you enjoy your time here today. Would you pray with me?"

As the woman’s head bowed, Tobin snuck a glance at Christen. She looked happy enough in their second-to-last row, eyes flickering around the crowd with an amiable interest. Tobin slid her eyes shut.

"… May we come to You with open hearts, and open hands today Lord. Fill us with Your presence, that we might know You, and be more like You. Help us to leave the things of the world at the door if they are distractions, or at Your feet if we are in need. And most of all, lift our hearts and our heads that we might be reminded of who You are, who we are, and who You are shaping us to be. We love you Lord, and we give this time to You. Em Nome de Jesus, amém."

" _Amen._ "

The chords that had begun playing halfway through her prayer picked up pace, turning into a recognizable theme.

Tobin grinned.

_Hillsong. Of course it is._

"What is it?" A whisper at her ear.

Tobin chuckled. "Nothing, it’s just a really popular song. It’s funny to be so far away from home and hear the exact same thing I would there."

Christen smiled with her, enjoying Tobin’s joy.

_You were the Word at the beginning_  
_One with God the Lord Most High_  
_Your hidden glory in creation_  
_Now revealed in you our Christ_

_What a beautiful Name it is_  
_What a beautiful Name it is_  
_The name of…_

Tobin sang along easily, not even needing the projected words. It felt good. Like slipping into a well-worn shirt. _This is what I needed. To plug back in._

Christen watched the room. A woman at the front was raising her hands, head tilted back with her eyes closed. Another man, closer, a few rows in front had sunk to his knees, praying, it looked like, under the music. It wasn’t like a concert and she tilted her head, watching people engage.

_You didn’t want heaven without us_  
_So Jesus, you brought heaven down_  
_My sin was great, your love was greater_  
_What could separate us now_

Christen picked up the chorus with her, and Tobin laughed out loud, grinning at the woman who simply grinned back, singing slightly off key.

_What a beautiful Name it is_  
_What a beautiful Name it is_

Tobin let her eyes slip shut again. Singing along but her brain taking a different track underneath.

_"Please Jesus, I need you to change me. I need you to make me better, Jesus. You know what I’m talking about. Please, PLEASE. I can’t do this on my own. It’s not working. If you don’t want me to feel this, HELP. Please. I just want to make you happy. Please let me stop feeling this way. Fix me Jesus, please."_

The music was picking up and Tobin let it wash over her. The driving beat. The wave of devotion it always awakened in her. She sank to her knees, tucking her folded lips against her knuckles, whispering.

" _Jesus, do it. If you don’t want me to be this way, DO IT."_

The music began singing of power. Nothing standing against Him. _"I’m sorry if I’ve been weak. I’m sorry I’ve taken more than I should have. Felt more than I should have. Can you just… can you make it better? Can you make me love the way I’m supposed to? I want it so badly. I feel so guilty and I’m dying inside. Fix me, God. Please. Please. Please. Please."_

With every please, Tobin’s lips brushed her hand like a kiss, and it tasted salty. She knew she was crying her first few tears in years. Silently grateful for her long hair, she let it fall in a veil around her face. She sniffed once; scuffed her knuckles under her eye, careful not to rub too hard and make her eyes red. _He’s got this, Tobin. He’ll take care of you. Trust. Just trust._

The music was fading out, some starting to return to their standing positions, other lingering in whatever supine position they had prayed in. Tobin pushed herself back up into her chair, grabbing her snapback out of her bag and sliding it on straight before leaning back — it was worth it for the coverage.

Christen seemed to notice anyways. She reached out and grabbed Tobin’s hand, squeezing lightly. "You ok?"

Tobin nodded briskly. Sniffed again. "Yeah. Yeah, that was good. I needed this."

Christen squeezed her hand again, smiling softly before pulling away. 

They moved through the liturgy, Christen enjoying the part where people stood up and shared prayer requests particularly. " _What? They’re so vulnerable. It’s beautiful. Living in community._ "

Eventually, they were halfway through the sermon. It had been on a familiar passage — the woman at the well. A woman with a checkered past. A woman with a checkered present, really. Maria had been sharing about the radical nature of Jesus’ presence with her. First of all, in that time, as a man to a woman — he crossed gender lines. Then as a Jew to a Samaritan who were considered mixed-race and ostracized for it — he crossed racial lines. And finally, as the Son of God to a sinner — he crossed religious lines — willingly and joyfully sitting in the company of those considered the farthest from God’s love. It was always an encouragement. Tobin tuned back in.

"…There’s this tradition in Judaism that I find incredibly relevant to the Christian experience. It is said of the Jews, maybe not so much now but certainly in the older tradition, that they would not willingly step upon the smallest piece of paper in their way, but took it up. Why? Because possibly, they said, the name of God may be upon it."

"That may sound like superstition, but truly, there is nothing but good religion in it if we apply it to man. A scholar, Coleridge, puts it this way: " _Trample not on any. There may be some work of grace there, that thou knowest not of."_ And here Maria paused for special emphasis. "' _The name of God may be written upon that soul thou treads on.'"_

"That person the world, sometimes even your religion — not God, but religion — says is nothing but so much crumpled wasted paper beneath your shoe … that soul may be one that Christ desired so much that he shed his precious blood for it; _therefore, despise it not._ "

Tobin felt a tremble in her spirit; some deep-seated discomfort.

"I challenge you to look in your heart. Where do you have hate? Where do you have disdain? Where do you find yourself pushing someone away, whether for fear, or revulsion, or — dare I say it — the terror of identification? Of a mirror? _That_ is where Christ wants to step in. There is where he wants to say 'I died for her. I died for him. Will you love them as much as I?’ And maybe — just maybe…" Maria’s head turned, scanning the crowd and Tobin tipped her head down, hiding under the brim of her hat, "… some of you will come to realize His love for you too."

_Fuck. God, NO. You were supposed to FIX me. Not this. This isn’t — Jesus, PLEASE. What do you WANT from me? What is this?!_

An interminable 10 minutes later, the church doors swung open into glaring sunlight. Tobin shielded her eyes, blinking away spots. Christen, having actually prepared with shades, slipped her arm through Tobin’s elbow and guided them down the stairs with a little joyful hop.

"That was really good! I loved her imagery for worth. The hidden possibilities, the hidden divinity in someone the world sees as disposable. I could use more church if I hear sermons like that!"

Tobin blinked away the last of the spots and hummed. Rubbed at her eyes.

Christen’s head cocked — "You’re even quieter than normal … Did you … not like it?"

"What? No, it was great. It was…" she pulled her arm away. Turned to face the watching woman. "I don’t know. I feel — I _felt_ —" The inability to explain oneself is _very_ aggravating. She labored for something that made even the faintest bit of sense.

"It kind of made me … sad."

_Sad? That’s the best you’ve got? Useless._

Anxiety drove her to a pivot, eyes searching out for a taxi but—

Christen’s grasp on her wrist drew so lightly Tobin wasn’t sure she’d actually pulled at all. Just whispered the hope of it with each fingertip.

Surely there was nothing left in her that could deny this woman.

She turned glacially. Inevitably.

Christen’s eyes were the incarnation of that sacred season where new leaves grow soft as lamb’s ears off their stems in the morning light; each so strikingly green one would think the Brazilian sun shined from the inside rather than the out.

It was too green. Too clear.

Tobin ducked her head to navigate a crack in the sidewalk.

"…Why did it make you sad, Tobin?" fingers slipping those last few inches to twine into hers.

Tobin looked up to find Christen’s eyes fixed on her, and in an instant she could see it.

Her heart dropped like a stone into her stomach.

This wasn’t meant to be a question.

This was permission to share something Christen already knew.

Tobin wanted to tug her arm away. She wanted to have an errand she forgot to do and needed to leave for _right now_. She wanted to reverse this morning and have stayed in bed. She needed to think about this. Needed space. Needed somewhere to look at these feelings swirling in her gut and pick out what was really from God and what was just a line the world had drawn. She wasn’t _ready_.

She called for anything, any molecule of her being that still had power.

"I don’t know. …Let’s stop talking about it. Can we get a smoothie before we go back?"

Christen’s forehead wrinkled, clearly deciding whether or not she would let Tobin slip away from this.

But they still had time. They had weeks left in Rio yet. She’d find the moment to bring it up again.

Christen allowed herself to squeeze that trembling hand just once, then let it loose. "Sure, let’s go. I saw a stand on the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carli: Good night, Allie  
> Allie: Goodnight.  
> Allie: Sleep tight.  
> Allie: Don’t let the bed bugs bite.  
> Allie: Tonight.  
> Allie: Imma fight till I see the sunlight. TikTok on the clock but the party don’t stop—  
> Carli: *sighs*
> 
>   
> Leave a comment: If you could give a sentence or two describing the issues Tobin is dealing with, how would you do so? Christen?


	7. Step Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tobin woke up seven hours later and a full 20 minutes before an alarm set to "All I Do Is Win," it was with a naked arm around her hips and hot breath against her neck. 
> 
> An electric spark tingled in her abdomen. 
> 
> Today was going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashlyn: Your hand looks so heavy…  
> Ali:  
> Ashlyn: Can I hold it for you?  
> Ali: What? I — You know what, forget it. Sure, go ahead and hold my hand.
> 
> Warning: smut ahead  
> More important warning: then imma tear your heart out

**8/11/16  
 **Rio de Janeiro  
 **Night before the Quarterfinal** ****

Tobin was a ghost for the next 36 hours. She was present, obviously. Practice and meal schedules dictated that. But she was silent except when necessary; her eyes shuttered, like a house on the beach in hurricane season. Locked up. 

Christen watched her all day. She could see it.

Tobin didn’t nutmeg a single person at practice except when she was actually scrimmaging.

Tobin didn’t laugh when Lindsey made Mal snort at lunch and milk came out of her nose, even though they were only a few seats away.

Most telling, Tobin didn’t even thank the woman who took their empty lunch trays in the athlete’s mess hall even though Christen had literally _never_ seen Tobin not thank a service worker and she’d joined this team in 2013. It was like Tobin hadn’t even seen her.

The only person she’d let touch her was Allie, who — Christen thanked the spirits for it — had seemed to pick up that something was wrong. She kept shoving herself in next to the subdued woman whenever there was a seated moment, bumping shoulders and asking if 'Harry' wanted to play a game of cards, or go on a walk. Tobin never said yes. But she’d let the shoulder stay pressed against her own; like it was the only mercy small enough to be allowed.

The one blessing was that Jill didn’t seem to notice, too busy refining the plan of attack for tomorrow’s semifinal against Sweden.

But Christen noticed.

Christen noticed it and waited. 

* * *

Tobin had left the meeting room the moment Dawn’s pep talk had ended.

Still waiting then.

She went to talk to Mal instead, taking the chance to relive and celebrate the girl’s record-breaking Olympic goal two days ago. She was easy to fawn over, all blushing and bright eyes as she tried to figure out how hyped she was allowed to be.

( _"Baby, you’re the youngest U.S. player to score in the Olympics ever. No one thinks you’re prideful for being excited."_

_"Think we can celebrate sometime? When we’re back? The apartment they helped me find after I aged out in April … you could come see it…"_

_Apprehension and hope._

_"…and we could — I don’t know — go for milkshakes, or something?"_

_"Mallory, I would love nothing more. We’ll pick a date, ok?"_

_The hug was so tight she thought her ribs might crack - Christen loved every second of it._ )

When Lindsey tugged Mal away with some plan to scare Allie and film it, Christen’s feet led her inevitably back to their room, wondering if Tobin would be there.

Last night, Tobin had muttered something about catching up with Alex and hadn’t made it back. Presumably she was in her and Whitney’s room, but who could say really, right? It had taken a full hour of tossing and turning before Christen gave in and texted the other forward, needing to know the girl wasn’t out wandering through the streets. She’d gotten a picture back. It was Tobin, hair mussed and falling over her sleeping face, one hand shoved up under the pillow and the other fisted under her chin like Christen had witnessed on a dozen different nights. "Fell asleep the moment she got here. No worries. She’s fine to stay in mine for the night."

Honestly, it hadn’t helped her sleep. Alex’s hand in the frame of it; reaching distance from brushing the hair from a dozing cheek.

So when Tobin was there leaned against the dresser in her typical slouch, so still she seemed part of the furniture for a moment, it made Christen leap.

She walked over carefully.

"Hey Tobin, what’s up?"

A quiet pause.

Then —

"I don’t want to be sad anymore." Tobin’s eyes were lingering on her hands, thumbs sliding their way under each nail in an attempt at removing invisible dirt.

"…Oh?"

"Or, I don’t — I don’t think I _need_ to be sad anymore."Picked at her cuticle. "…I think, maybe, these lines in my head aren’t real. Aren’t actually Him. They were from something else."

"From what?"

"From my parents. My church. A lack of understanding. But I think I understand now."

This was the edge of something. Something she’d been waiting for. She crept softly into it. "What do you understand, Tobin?"

A flickered glance. Then back to her nails. "I wanted Him to _fix_ me. To make me good. To make me more like Him."

"And he didn’t?"

"No, I… I didn’t know this was possible." An inhale and swallow. "But I think He wanted to make me more like _me."_

Christen padded the last few paces to the hunched figure and grabbed her hands away from destroying any further nail beds. Bent a little to try to catch her eye. "That sounds like something a god who made you - who loves you - would do."

Tobin glanced to Christen’s warm and analyzing stare; held it for just a second before she went back down to her hands again. She pulled lightly but Christen just re-situated her fingers around the midfielder’s.

A lip sucked between two rows of teeth. "I know you know. That you could… tell."

Christen hummed lowly. "Honestly, not for sure till Rio. It was so wrapped up in doing things for me and… well, I wasn’t sure."

Tobin’s shoulders were moving minutely — like she was trying to put on a coat of courage and it was catching at the shoulders. She finally shrugged it on fully, shoulders pushing back as she lifted to meet Christen’s gaze head on.

"You have made me… feel things, Christen. Things that I have spent my entire life hiding from, or making small, or praying were something other than what they were. Anything else."

She could barely breathe with it. The unobscured truth of it. "…And now what? What do you feel, now, Tobin?"

The brunette licked her lips, just a brief pass over the lower swell that Christen knew wasn’t intentional but her eyes popped to it anyway, heart beating as fast as if it’d been meant for her.

"I’ve been so honored that you let me touch you for you. To help you. But I would really — if you’re ok with it — like to touch you again. …But for me this time."

The air was thick and Christen could barely move in it. Barely speak.

"Go ahead, then."

She could see Tobin’s throat bob, then once again as she inclined closer, pulling within inches of Christen’s buzzing frame.

A hand traced the curve of Christen’s cheek, finally cupping it fully and her eyes fluttered shut. Then, lightly, just a trace, she felt chapped lips press the growing pink on the other side. Against her cheekbone. Then against the velvety middle. And again at the very corner of her lips.

Tobin pulled away, a gasp chasing after her as Christen fisted her hands in the stomach of a black PTFC shirt.

"Tobin…"Green eyes closed for one long second before blinking back into a more conscious form of existence.

"Tobin, do it for real this time," she croaked, throat gravely in sudden thirst.

It felt like the woman was trying to translate another language on her lips, so fixed were the brown irises just above Christen’s chin. "Is it ok to —? I didn’t want to assume."

Knuckles clenched — instinctually, needy —in the fabric again. "Tobin, _kiss me."_

So she did.

Christen’s pulse was hopping from her stomach; to her lips; to her chest — beating and frantic and _delicious_ with want. Do you know the feeling of it? When a hollow drum is echoing in your throat and the resonance of it is thrumming louder and louder in every synapse of your body till you almost lose the ability to hear, so captured in the thick and the bass of it? Nothing to do but to press your lips further into the beat and move with it. Dance for it. Synesthesia till the sound and the suck and the scent of her chapstick are one and the same ocean you just might drown in, and happily.The tide of the midfielder’s lips was unhesitating, any sense of apprehension left on her knees in prayer somewhere over the last few hours.

Christen wanted it all. Every nip, every pull, every torturous sliding smack of it. It was everything she had been dreaming of for weeks now. Awakened in a multitude of 3AMs gasping for; rationalizing it was just her brain’s processing of what they were doing… but, by degrees, in little sprouting seeds of terrifying awareness… wondered—

A tongue came into play and she gasped, an unintentional but so very-okay-with-it opening for it to press further into her mouth —

Tobin had always been talented at finding a path through defenders.

" _Yes."_

A lick at the back of her teeth in response. Christen sucked the tip of it into the close of her mouth.

Tobin’s hair was so soft under her fingers. Honey brown strands of cornsilk and she dug her fingers into the thick of it, nails scratching at the back of Tobin’s neck.

The midfielder ran out of breath, pulling her chin away with an audible mewl, forehead dipping in to press against Christen’s instead; panted.

_"I’ve felt so guilty. So guilty for wanting you. For you not knowing while we…"_

_"Shhh, honey, it’s ok. I knew. I wanted it too."_

Tobin’s nose nudged Christen’s cheek and her hands held firmly to her hips; thumbs tucked under the hem to rub circles against the sloping curve of protruding bone under the skin. Her breath was dense and damp against Christen’s skin as a small whine accompanied another press of her nose.

" _Tobin?"_

The nudging nose bumped forward in a silent recognition.

_"…Take me to bed."_

Tobin’s hips stepped immediately into Christen’s, leading her into a stumbling reel backwards, knees folding over the edge of the quilt as she sank.

Brown eyes emerged worried after a brief swoon, lids having shuttered temporarily at the swell of want in her stomach. Like she’d moved the woman instinctually rather than from deliberate intention. 

Christen lifted her hand to trace the clenching jaw.

"I want this, Tobin. I know you’re trying to be sure I’m ok. But I’m telling you I want this too. Trust me, alright?"

Spit-slicked lips pressed against Christen’s palm; held there for just a moment before pulling Christen’s wrist slightly down and planting a knee decisively on either side of her hips.

The dance began again.

* * *

Fingers reaching for a shirt hem.

A whine, then a retreat from their kiss.

"Wait, me first."

Tobin bit her collarbone lightly, huffing out a hot breath. " _No."_

 _"_ Tobin!" A gasp at the following suck. "You’ve been touching me for weeks. I want a turn."

There was an eye roll but a grin, and Christen could see she’d won.

"On your back then, Heath."

A nibble to her neck this time, soothed after by a tongue. "…And you call me bossy."

A silent guiding hand was the only answer.

Then the thrill of obedience.

* * *

They both make a sound when Christen parts her with her fingers. She’s soft. So soft. And sticky. Christen strokes with just the pads of her fingers, testing. "You’re wet, Tobs."

The woman shudders and spreads her legs more, nudges her hips down unconsciously.

"Yeah." She doesn’t even sound aware. She sounds blissed out. Flying somewhere above them.

Christen wants her here.

She bumps her thumb into her clit with purpose.

Tobin’s breath stutters, ( _there we go),_ a hand reaching for Christen’s wrist — not to stop, it seems. Just to… evidence?As if to test the reality of this moment.

Christen mouths at the top of her thigh. Trails one finger down through the wet. "What do you want, Tobin?"

She clenches her eyes in confession. Squeezes that blessed wrist.

"I don’t know if it’s fair to ask. If I shoul—"

Another determined press at her clit that leaves her trembling. "Tobin. Tell me what you need."

"… _Inside._ "

* * *

"More."

* * *

"More."

* * *

" _Jesus_ , Tobin, you’re actually taking three. I didn’t kno—"

The murmur is interrupted by a high-pitched close-mouthed whine, nostrils flaring, Tobin’s back tilted up on two elbows as she pumped her hips down down down, desperate for every fraction, everything Christen could give her. A wet mouth sloppy and scraping at the patch of lines on her hip, head not even looking as those fingers drove over and over —

"More."

Green snaps up. "You can’t be s—"

"Christen, please, _please_ ," It’s high-pitched and desperate. Almost nonsensical, the word morphing into a diaphanous keen of meaning so much larger than please, so much more wanting, so much more needful that she thinks she might die in this moment if she doesn’t get—

Tobin needs this.

She _needs_ this.

She needs to be stretched to the limit.

She needs this moment to be so strong, so pushing, so vital that forever afterward, whenever she thinks of what it means to be taken, to be stretched, to be full, she’ll think only, exclusively, indelibly, of —

" _Christen, Christen, Christen, Christen."_ Famished and fraught — every thrust stoking a shattered cry until—

 _"_ Ok, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Tobin. _"_

And finally, _impossibly_ , there’s somehow more. A pinkie wedging best it can into the shape of the three, adding nothing to the length, but at the base of her that first and clasping ring is forcing even wider, straining past its limit, so close to the knuckle she can’t bear it, so tight Tobin can’t breathe with it, can’t see, every nerve ending in her body pulled to that _stretch stretch stretch I can’t take it I want all of it stretch_ and suddenly she’s coming: she’s coming like mountain, like comet, like steel, like the clench of her could fuse atoms if there was only any space between her and " _CHRISten!"_ as the back of her head twisted against the sheets, full-bodied vault and writhe, trembling in air from her crown to her tailbone, anchored only at the fists spread in rapturous clutches, clawing gouges in the sheets and —

She crumpled to the bed, body desperate for breath. A moving shape above, all length and press and cover, when suddenly Tobin’s ear is hot and damp at the breath of _her_ ; the feminine "shh, shh, baby, I’ve got you, you’re good, you were so good for me Tobin, that was so — so _much_ , Tobin — just … everything. Shhhh, just breathe, honey" and then her lungs were filling again, great gasps of it as her heart pounded like a fist against the back of her ribs in a drunken _whumpwhump, whumpwhump, whumpwhump_ till she was seeing again. Till she was Tobin again. Just wet and sort of gaping, lips stuck wide still with the memory of knuckles, the air pulling a cool and a presence to the skin of her she’d never known you could feel just on its own, untouched like it is in this moment. But she could. Feel it.

"I’ve got you, Tobin. That was incredible, sweetie. That was so beautiful." Lips mouthing at her jaw now, panting whispers of words slicked into her cheek like she’s having trouble breathing too. "I can’t believe you did that. Can’t believe you took me like that."

It was clearing in degrees. Little corners of the room coming into focus as her awareness finally spread back to other parts of her body; hands limp and useless at her sides; hair matting to her face with sweat; ribs pressed and present where an elbow sat heavy as Christen tried to lay as much of her body on hers as possible without actually making Tobin bear the whole weight.

" _Tobin_ ," gasped back against her lips now, the hero’s journey, conquering yet humble for it as that tenor of amazement slipped through. Tobin tilted her head. Met those lips with her own in a try at a kiss — still just a little too outside herself to perform technically — to do anything but feel. Christen didn’t seem to mind. Sucked that clumsy lower lip into her mouth.

She was fully back to herself now.

" _Chris."_

A calmer hum, and a more languid reclamation of her marvelous girl’s tongue for a long moment. "Yeah, Tobs?" One more nip at her lip.

"Was that ok? Are you — was that—"

"It was perfect. You were perfect."

A tired nod.

A pondering bite at her ear — " _think one day you’ll take my fist in you?"_

NOT tired.

* * *

"You’re so responsive." Tobin flicked her finger at the nipple again, Christen gasping like it wasn’t already a panoply in the last many minutes. "Mine aren’t like this. Not so —" Tobin wrapped her mouth around the tip, sucking briefly yet fierce as Christen lost track of her own name, "sensitive. I have other places that are more like this. But I always wondered…" Tobin dragged her lips up and down the skin a few times, ending by nudging her nose against the prominent dark ring, "how it might feel to," another suck, "come from this alone."

Christen’s shoulders jousted, breaths coming fast and ragged within her lungs as she presented to the air, to the mouth, to her.

"Do you think you could come from this, Chris?" She was sucking the other nipple now but two fingers lingered by the first, pinching in sync with every hollowing of her mouth a few inches away. Christen keened — twice when she felt the flat of Tobin’s teeth press her breast as she smiled. "I bet you could." A harder pinch that left Christen writhing; "…But let’s save that for another day."

Pink lips drifted down and Christen’s back collapsed in relief and regret. _Abso-fucking-lutely we’re gonna try that another day. FUCK._ Christen dug a hand in Tobin’s hair as the woman mouthed at her abdomen, tongue tracing the subtle indentations around her muscles. "…Touching you here was such torture. To try not to give myself away. I could have cried I was so turned on." She sucked at a little bar of muscle and Christen’s whole body melted. "So wet for you. But I was hiding it."

Christen panted. "What would you have done?"

Tobin hummed, fingers drumming against her abdomen as she rested her cheek nearby for a moment; Christen stroking the sweat-dried wisps from her forehead. "I don’t know," she mused. "Probably just said what I was thinking. Let you know how hot you were. Lick every line of them, maybe. See what they look like when the light catches on it."

Tobin spoke so much like this. So shockingly much. Christen’s hips bucked in envy as Tobin licked a long stripe experimentally up the ladder of her torso; cocked her head at the shimmer. "Yeah, I like that."

Tobin’s nose dragged down again, all the way to her underwear where it rested briefly with a nudge, her lips kissing lightly against the covered mess of hair. Christen’s hand clenched too tightly — she could tell — the strands trapped in her hand pulling tight. She let go. Smoothed them contritely.

Tobin craned up to kiss the tips of her fingers, then gestured with her chin: "Can I take these off?"

Christen nodded blindly as deft hands dragged the soaking underwear slowly down her thighs, leaving her to kick them the rest of the way off with her heels.

Tobin took a deep breath through her nose. _She smells so good. So good._ She rubbed over the dark thatch of hair with her thumb a few times, marveling at the glints of moisture. Christen swallowed; grabbed faintly as the curious fingers drifted down.

Probing eyes were on her in an instant.

"I don’t think I can…" she held Tobin’s hand lightly but sure between her fingers. "I want to. But I think not just yet. I need to — is that ok?"

Tobin was up beside her again in an instant, hands cupping either side of her face as lips grazed against each eyelid. Her nose. Her lips. "Of course, Christen. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want."

"I _want to._ I just think it might be too much right now." She met those concerned eyes with a smile. Stroked her hair again in an intent to soothe. "So not yet, but can I…" she pulled up a little, glancing down to take stock of their bodies. "Can I try something else?"

Tobin nodded.

Christen pushed against her shoulder in a gentle command, rolling her onto her back. Then, flipping her mass of curls over a shoulder, a few spirals already slipping over by a collarbone again, Christen shuffled down and over onto all fours, settling one knee between Tobin’s and the other on the quilt to the right. The woman worked it out quickly, bending her left leg up slightly so Christen would have a better angle before grabbing her hips.

"…Take what you need, Chris."

Experimentally, Christen tipped her hips down, apex bumping against Tobin’s thigh. She readjusted her hands more broadly near Tobin’s shoulders, hovering over her body before driving back down again, the damp curls meeting the tensed muscle first, then rolling through her clit to her folds, leaving little messes of slick on the tan skin. _There we go._ Christen whined.

"That’s it." Tobin’s hands pulled her back down again, fingertips gripping into the skin of her hips. “You feel so good."

She tried a few more times, flinching whenever her clit could rub against the increasingly wet thigh, but the angle wasn’t right. She couldn’t hit it consistently and her face twisted in displeasure and need.

"It’s not… I can’t figure out —"

A hand traced Christen’s collarbone, then rubbed gently across a nipple and she gasped, elbows almost folding in the bliss.

"What do you need?"

"Can we…" Christen bucked once more, crying out as she missed that perfect spot she was aiming for. Pushed back up on her hands and knees panting. "Can we… you said at the party you could… that it worked—"

"Against the wall? Yeah, we can do that, Chris. Anything."

Tobin slid her body up the bed, swinging her left leg out wide first ( _so pink and wet, fuck),_ then pulling up the other from between Christen’s knees before sliding it over too. Christen sat back on her haunches watching.

Naked and so gloriously toned. She was beautiful. Tobin was a living, breathing, glistening effigy. Skin soft and occasionally red in the places where Christen had mouthed particularly hard. She leaned against the wall, shoulders adjusting to the hardness of it as she pushed her feet out a little bit, right leg stretched out for balance as the left leg propped up in an angle again. "Come over here."

Tobin’s thigh was still wet when Christen made it over and she had the sudden impulse to sink to her knees and lick at it. She restrained it; glanced up in a moment of insecurity instead. Tobin leaned forward and grasped her wrists, pulling her to stand straddled over the angled knee, one lone sticky drip landing on the midfielder’s leg.

"Come on, baby." Tobin’s eyebrows jumped, shocking even herself at the pet term.

Christen felt some internal part of herself curl up and purr. She pushed forward the last few inches, cunt slotting against the top of her thigh and - _OH -_ _this_ was it, this was going to work because at this angle her clit pressed right into the inner curve of Tobin’s hipbone and — Christen released a little cry, her mouth falling to pant open-mouthed and wet against Tobin’s neck.

"There you go." Tobin’s hands began pushing and pulling her hips, just a little, and Christen sank into the motion, bending slightly every thrust up to run the length of her against that smooth surface; to meet that jut of bone with every stuttered propulsion. She choked incoherent syllables into the angle of neck and shoulder, biting when her clit met a particularly well-aimed return thrust. " _Feels so good. Feels — so —"_ another thrust and keen, _"so good, Tobin."_

Tobin’s leg was dripping, absolutely _filthy_ and it was becoming harder to gain purchase, hard to get that pull and drag but she was close. She was so close.

Tobin adjusted her leg, aiming for a more solid stance and it sent Christen into a tailspin. " _Don’t move Tobin, don’t move, I’m so close, Please just" —_ she wanted to cry into that dark and damp little space, Tobin’s hair sticking to her face as the breath built into a damp heat around her neck. Christen’s teeth bit lightly around that cord of muscle in her shoulder, Tobin’s head thrusting back against the wall with an _oof_ as indents appeared with a little more force on her skin. Arms wrapped around Christen now, blunt nails pulling in fast and scratching lines down the skin of her back as Tobin panted an echo of what Christen had been replaying on loop in her dreams for a week.

"Come for me, Chris. Come for me, baby."

And with a wailing cry sounding more animal that human, Christen shoved her hips into Tobin’s one more time, releasing a gush of slick against the already dripping leg as she shuddered, shuddered with her lips wide and gasping into Tobin’s chest.

Tobin’s hands had slowed, gentle strokes against her back now, coos dropping like far away chapel bells into her ears. Muffled but growing more clear. "Yes, sweet girl, you did so good, Chris. You were so good. So pretty when you came."

Christen nuzzled against the swell of Tobin’s breasts, body starting to chill lightly as she became aware of the A/C unit just to their right under the window. Tobin pulled her in tight when she shivered. "Let’s get you under those covers, sweetie." Tobin coaxed her back over to the bed, lifting the sheet up above Christen’s shoulders before walking around and getting under it on the other side, lithe and naked body sliding up till it met Christen’s own in a thrilling multitude of locations. Christen, pulling the woman’s torso in tight, ducked to kiss her breastbone once, twice. Lips pressed against her hair in return.

"You’re so beautiful, Chris. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Touching you is…"

Christen shivered again, twisting her legs up into Tobin’s.

"You’re so beautiful, inside and out. And I’m so thankful to have you in my life. So thankful you let me share this with you. So thankful I get to be the one."

Christen craned up for another searching, deep mouthed kiss. It dissolved as the need for air grew, splitting into a mess of small damp presses of the lips.

When Tobin woke up seven hours later and a full 20 minutes before an alarm set to "All I Do Is Win," it was with a naked arm around her hips and hot breath against her neck.

An electric spark tingled in her abdomen.

Today was going to be a good day.

**Author’s Note: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, IF YOU WANT TO FEEL GOOD TONIGHT STOP HERE AND READ THE REST TOMORROW.**

* * *

**8/12/16  
 **Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
 **Quarterfinal: US v Sweden (1-1), PKS (3-4)  
 **U.S. Goals:** Morgan******

**Penalty summary:  
 **USA: Morgan (save) Horan (goal) Lloyd (goal) Brian (goal) Press (miss)  
 **SWE: Schelin (goal) Asllani (goal) Sembrant (save) Seger (goal) Dahlkvist (goal)******

Heavy lashes fluttered at the abrupt shut off of a raucous and musical alarm. The mattress dipped just slightly as a figure shuffled itself back into view. 

"Hey, Chris. Morning."

The corners of her mouth pulling towards cheekbones, the crease of her eyes deepening in warmth; every bit of it was instinctual at the whisper which had become so incredibly familiar to her in that space between dream and waking.

Normally the other direction though.

"As I live and breathe… Tobin Heath, did you wake up before me?"

"Only a little while. Ten minutes or so."

Christen’s eyes slipped shut again, feeling the morning rays from the window sink into her skin.

A passing thought; "were you watching me sleep?"

"I haven’t really had the chance before." Tender. Struck.

Eyes fluttered open once more in a growing realization and her cheeks pinked. "…We don’t have on clothes."

"No, we don’t." A tentative hand slipped onto the curve of her waist, fingers slowly lowering until they could set fully against the skin. "Is that ok?"

"You tell me."

It was a chance at something as of yet still unspoken in the daylight.

Tobin was ready to meet it.

"I find it to be very, very ok." They’d been waiting for this. But it was weighty. Too weighty for a woman 90 seconds after waking. Tobin lightened the air a little. "Good thing Mal’s enjoying her room with Lindsey. Last night would have been a very bad time for an impromptu visit."

Christen laughed in surprise, shoving her face into the pillow, hair a morning-haloed mess in the push of it. "Oh God, we’re so lucky that didn’t happen. She’d certainly get a shock. But better than Kelley or something. Mal at least can keep a secret."

"Is that what we are? What you want to be?… A secret?"

It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even an admission. It was an ask. And it had Christen itching from it. She resurfaced from the pillow. "…What we are is about to be late for check-in if we don’t start — tragically, I’ll admit — putting on these clothes you are so _very, very ok_ without." 

It was a tease, but it couldn’t stay there.She didn’t want to go further than this, but it needed its moment. Her voice went both sober and fond. "I’m proud of you Tobin. For figuring this out. For wrestling with it till you had peace. And being willing to accept the answer."

Tobin just slid the back of a finger down Christen’s cheek, watching how the smallest of little hairs caught the light.

"…And what about you? Did you figure anything out?"

_Don’t show it. Let her have this. You need to think._

"Tobin, this was about — I’m not… I don’t —" She grabbed the finger and tussled it lightly with a soft smile."It’s not important. It can wait."

And then in a act tinged just slightly in desperation, Christen tugged Tobin in by the waist for one long, near brutal kiss; all teeth, and tongue, and claiming. Every place their bodies touched — a knee, a hand across a back, one unintentional yet thrilling drag of nipples against the other’s — was a reminder of their nakedness and Christen found herself split between devouring it and the burgeoning, pricking desire to sprint from it as fast as she could. Everything felt different - more real - unmasked from the cover of night, and the shape of it was — it was — _Not right now._

As she pulled away slowly, Tobin’s lip dragging out from the grip of her teeth until distance released it, the midfielder smiled.Her lips were rose and reaching in a barely noticeable swell that anyone looking would hopefully write off as the lip-biting of Olympic nerves.

"Go get ready, Heath."

Christen swat her ( _chiseled, damn)_ butt as Tobin rolled with a warm and regretful moan, hopping to her feet.

She’d try to define that nascent tinge of panic later.

First they had to win.

* * *

"Baby, you scored last game. You. 18 years old. It’s ok to be nervous about starting. But America is proud to have you on that field."

Later, as the anthem swelled, Christen snuck a wink to Mal and lifted her hand to her heart.

* * *

It was Pavlovian, the thrill and clench in her.

All these years and a whistle still felt like the first sip of frozen lemonade on a hot day.

Sweet.

Electrifying.

Time to begin.

* * *

This was… this was taking longer than it should have.

On the bench, Christen’s muscles clenched, antsy in the waiting of it.

She hopped to her feet to pace.

She might not even go in.

But stay warm.

Just in case.

* * *

Sweden was LEADING. 61 minutes in and Sweden was LEADING.

* * *

Praise God for Alex Morgan.

Christen swallowed down the knot in her throat.

It’s only the 77th.

There’s still time.

We just need one more.

* * *

They were barely even pushing offensively. Focused completely on locking down the back line. Like they didn’t even care about scoring.…But it was working. Mal and Alex and Carli were fighting to get in, fighting for any gap but they were denied at every chance. Even Tobin, feet dancing like only she knew the steps, couldn’t seem to crack the code.

Pia knew them so well. Pia knew every chink in America’s armor. Pia who had coached these same ladies for years. Pia who had led them to gold just 4 years ago at the last Olympics. Who had led half of this team to the finish in 2008 too.

Pia who was now on the other side of the sideline whispering directions in her assistant coach’s ear for Sweden’s next sub.

Christen swallowed as she began to fear — Pia knew everything about them.

Pia knew how to win.

* * *

Jill sent her in for Megan at the 99th.

She wanted to play. She’d been dying to get in there.

But… she’d expected Ali, honestly. She’d been watching the field. It was supposed to be Ali. Tobin had been pushed into right back after their equalizer and if they sent in Ali, Tobin could take her foot skills back to the midline. That’s where they needed the boost.

And why had Megan even gone in when they knew she was barely able to play 30 after her injury? Why had they wasted that sub?

This was wrong.

This was all wrong.

* * *

Mal went down with an injury in the 114th minute, Horan replacing her on the field.   
  


But no time to think about it.   
  


6 minutes left to win.   
  


We need to win.   
  


* * *

Tied. Tied with Sweden. Tied in the Quarterfinal. Tied even after overtime. 120 minutes to prove they were the best in the world and yet here they were. At PKs.

Christen watched Hope chug from her water bottle; hands testing the grip of her gloves over and over again; a wild and determined look in her eyes.

* * *

Her hands lock on top of her head. Eyes wide as —

And the crowd is roaring in a cacophony of —

She had scored.

Dahlkvist had scored.

And Christen had—

She had—

They had just logged the earliest exit the USWNT had ever suffered in an Olympics or World Cup.

It was her PK.

She’d done this every day of her life.

Mallory is crying 10 paces away.

Lindsey’s thumb is swiping at the girl’s cheek; is simultaneously trying to guide her away from a camera, vulture-like in its scent for wreckage.

Carli is just hunched on the ground, eyes open, noiseless.

Christen’s hands wrench in her hair; harder.

 _Wake up._

_Wake up._ _Wake up._

She had made this shot, scored this shot, on repeat every single day of her life.

And she —

Whitney was trying to speak to her. Trying to say something but —

The game was over.

And Christen, in front of the whole world, had lost it.

* * *

The post-game debrief was a blur and a joke.

No one could hear. Who could hear?

Jill was a muted screen.

Christen’s head buzzed.

* * *

She could see Tobin trying to talk to her. Searching for eye contact from the other side of Alex.

Christen hid her face against the window, Kelley a quiet shell in the bus seat beside her.

This was hell. This was hell. This was hell. This was —

_Wake up._

She clenched her eyes shut.

* * *

It was immediate when she came through the door. Tobin’s arms around her, her lips glancing against her ear as they started to speak some paltry comfort — it was like bathing in acid.

"Stop touching me."

Tobin pulled her hands up and away, eyes wide and contrite. "Sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t touch you."

Christen squeezed past her, cutting a left to the sink.

Ran the cold tap and cupped it to her face. Again. Again.

Shoved her face against a towel hanging on the bar, hand pressed behind it. Pulled up.

Moisture still clung to the lines of her cheeks; to the wisps. She could feel it, dripping just enough to itch. Not worth it. She spun out.

Tobin was still standing there.

_Why is she still standing there?_

"Chris, would you just let me—"

"I want you out of my room."

Confusion. Hurt. "…This is _our room."_

She stared. Just for a moment. The brown felt far away. Hazy.

She spun towards her bed this time.

 _"_ Fine. Then I’m going to Becky’s."

Tobin stood frozen near the entryway as the other woman marched across the room. "Won’t you just talk about this with me? I’ve been here, Chris. I missed the PK for Japan in 2011. I wanted to punish myself too, but you don’t have to be al—"

 _Quick. Terse._ "What I have to be is away from here. And I’d appreciate it if you leave me alone. In fact, I’ve already bought the first flight home in the morning and I’d like it if I could make it there without seeing you at all." _Good._

"Christen, stop it! You’re just upset. You don’t mean it," she pled. "I know losing was hard. I know you’re angry at yourself, and us, and the world. But —"

 _You made her sad_ , a part of Christen wails.

She slashes its throat before it can speak another word, wiping the knife off cooly on her heart.

"…No, Tobin. _You_ stop. You don’t know what I’m feeling. You don’t know what I want." _Better. Keep going._

Tobin’s hand was over her mouth, eyes dark in frantic apprehension for the lightning Christen’s storm cloud mouth looked poised to hurl.

"What I _want_ is to spin the clock back 24 hours and take back that _monumental_ mistake—"

"—Chris—"

"that I should have know would lead to nothing but—"

"— Chris —"

" _distraction_ and _weakness_."

"—Please," Tobin whispered, thunder-cowered by the bed.

Green eyes flashed in mania and ice.

"We ruined everything, Tobin."

_I ruined everything. I ruined everything._

"Christen, I truly don’t understand. Are you saying last night threw you off your game? I know that’s a superstition for athletes, but you _know_ studies have disproved it. So, do you mean emotionally? Help me to understand what you’re saying, Chris, because _I_ thought I told you I have feelings for you, and you said you wanted me back." Her hands clasped against her breastbone in a fevered appeal. "I thought that was special. More than a tournament. I thought that was us stepping in to something new—"

"We don’t have anything, Tobin. We had sex. That’s it." She began to walk around her bed, gathering the weeks’ detritus of books and pens and charge cords. _Space. You need space. You need space._

"Christen, that’s literally not what you _said_. You spoke like this was something we’d do again. You kissed me this morning like it was still last night! Where is this coming from all of a sudden? Is this about losing? Is it about me? Is it about being gay?"

"I never _said_ I was gay, Tobin."

Oh, God that was a knife somewhere deep. Venom pooled in her mouth. It was made to be spat. _"You certainly fucked me like you were."_

Christen just sneered, arms feeding their load through the mouth of her purse with an agitated clatter. "Really classy, Heath. You pick up that mouth from Harris?"

 _UG_. Tobin was _itching_ with anger and — she hadn’t even meant to say it. It was just — she —

She tried to restrain it. Tried to lock it in a box. Took a breath. "Can you just explain to me what changed?"

Christen shrugged. _Clear. Cool._ "Look, I was caught up in the whirlwind of it. It felt good and I let that spin into the imaginings of something, but Tobin, I just don’t want it. I don’t want a relationship with you. I don’t want a relationship with a teammate. I’m not sure I want a relationship while I’m still playing at all."

"But you said this was a _good_ thing. You said you felt like you were becoming whole."

_I felt like I was becoming whole._

_Stop. Stop it._

"Tobin," she grabbed her suitcase from the corner next and lugged it on the bed, "I care more about soccer than about sex. And today, I saw them be put into direct competition … and guess what?" A loud zip. "We lost. It is _not_ coincidence that the one time I let myself talk about getting into a relationship, I lose the biggest game of my life the next day. This is the universe saying something, Tobin. It’s saying this" she gestured her hands between them, "— _we —_ aren’t good;" ran a hand through her hair with a sigh, making an about face towards the pleading girl.

"Look. It was great. Soccer aside, it was a win for me, and a win for you. Can’t we just leave it at that? I finished my therapy and you…" she lifts a hand vaguely, "this whole time we’ve been saying it’s for practice. And somewhere along the way, it was obvious that was something you needed too. A chance to embrace your… feelings without having to say the words about what it meant. Without speaking your Christian guilt out loud. So I let you." It’s like a dropped mic. Thudding and resonant. "I let you practice on me too. Let’s just let it stay at that. "

Across the room, thin brows are scrunched so close together that the woman may well have permanent lines. She will certainly have a headache later. The _brutality_ of this. The absolute incomprehensible shame. It emerges in a screech —

" _God_ , Christen, do you have any idea how that makes me _feel?"_ Her head can’t help but shake in amazement that this has to be said. "How crappy?! Christen, I have been agonizing over you for _months_."

It’s like a waterfall. Like a fire hose.

She continues. "I have been wanting you and hating myself and all mixed up and — and I should have been more honest about what I was feeling, yes, I shouldn’t have sullied your thing with mine— but are you really just going to turn this into…" an incredulous laugh, "a- a game? Some savior complex where you helped the poor little repressed girl? Well, what if you’re _wrong_ Chris? What if God doesn’t want this?! And you and your … designs just… walked in and decided to blow up my whole life! Because… because you wanted to have an orgasm?! You think this right now is a _win_ for me?! You think that’s a fair trade?"

She was shouting now and she hated it. Hated that she couldn’t control it if she wanted to. 

"I never asked for you to push us into this! I didn’t ask for you to do something for me. YOU offered. YOU pushed. YOU told me to take you to bed. I thought we were in this _together_ , Christen!"

Christen was looking under the bed for socks like it was just another Tuesday. "Well, you’re all," a hand flung up from the far bed’s edge in sardonic aplomb, "sexually free now,"Christen popped up with her prize cooly "and it sounds like God is all thumbs up too, so … you’re _welcome_. Congratulations us! We did it. I can have sex and you can grow a spine." 

Unfolding to a stand, Christen rolled the socks in a ball and shoved them into a tennis shoe.

Tobin looked like she’d taken a fist to the face.

A curling shame and a growling anger meet in her middle and it answered Christen with a hiss: "You know, for all your pronouncements of who’s the gay and the straight in the room, I’m both the only one capable and the only one to have actually _had_ sex with a man. So maybe you need to rethink your little label gun there. I think its aim is off."

Christen’s eyebrows crashed together as her hands froze, a look of true confusion on her face. "What? When?"

"The end of July. At a bar. Just like you told me to. And… how did you say it? It was the best, most lurid, aggressively heterosexual penis-in-vagina experience ever. So, yay me," hands flung in the air.

"Then why did you lie abou—"

"It doesn’t _matter,_ Chris." God, she was just being spiteful at this point and it wasn’t helping but it just _burned_ and she couldn’t stop her mouth from twisting into a cruel and stubborn scowl.

"…You’re right. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters." (Christen’s voice was finally starting to heat up again and Tobin received that like a card stamped 'permission to yell'. She let the woman finish as her lungs prepared for the return volley —) "It only cost us _everything_. But didn’t matter a bit! Sure!" 

_My turn._ "What the hell does losing have to do with anything, Christen?"

The scratch and yell of it was catharsis and new fuel on the fire in one. Yet, a shade of Tobin, sort of floating, observing from the ceiling’s corner wondered at the image in front of her. The state the two of them were in and how very far it was from where they’d left things last night.

"Are you really so superstitious as to believe in luck? That you feeling something for me is the big bad reason we lost the Olympics?"

Christen twirled a finger in the air — " _WE_ didn’t lose the Olympics, Tobin." Shoved it against her own chest. " _I_ did. So, _yes_. I’ll believe whatever I damn well please."

Tobin could only shake her head. It was so _stupid._ So childish. But it was blatantly obvious that Christen wouldn’t receive anything to the contrary. The hurt and the flame rose.

"You know, I used to think you were strong? I used to think you were wise and open and so vulnerable, sharing yourself like some fucking California _spirit guide_ to make people feel better; feel let in and led." She sneered. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d sneered. "And you know what, that was a bunch of _shit._ You’re not strong. You’re _terrified."_

Christen walked into the bathroom with the rattle of toiletries tossing into a bag and Tobin pivoted to continue seamlessly, tracking the woman’s course throughout the room. 

"You talk circles around the things you’re comfortable with. You make it seem like that’s all there is, and you sound so put-together, so self-aware but you know what you are, Christen? A white-washed tomb. All shiny on the outside being"

(oh, God she hated herself,)

" _'rebuilt from my trauma and it’s going so well and I’m going to have a future isn’t that exciting'_ and inside it’s just death and bones and terror. Do you feel that?" It was shrill and ragged. "Do you feel how _scared_ you are?!"

The darker woman scoffed, threw the toiletry bag in the roof pocket, then stalked to grab and dump a drawer’s worth of shirts beside the suitcase.

Fine. She’d keep going. 

“It’s true. And the only thing you can grab ahold of to make you feel a little better is control. Your 200 shots a day like scoring will fulfill you. Comforting Mal like you’ve cracked the code when one missed PK and you’re _wrecked_. You scheme away for others, messing with their lives with whatever influence they’ve given you, whatever … magnetism you’ve lured them in with," _God, I hate it_ , "and completely disregard your own repressions. You act like you can guide everyone into being healthy and whole, but you’re just a _fake._ I think you do all of that just so you don’t have to look at how sad and miserable you are.”

Christen just kept rolling shirts, face so twisted and ireful it seemed steam should be pouring off.

"You push everyone away so you don’t ever have to be vulnerable. You make yourself Mother. Therapist. Encourager. But the moment someone gets too close to _you_ —"

_Finally, a response._

Christen had spun, teeth bared: "— Tobin what the _hell_ have we been doing these last 6 months? Because I let you pretty damn close and _I_ thought that was incredibly vulnerable."

"Yeah, but you know what, all of that was just _physical_." One hand was entrenched in her sun-faded hair, the other casting about. "This concrete thing outside yourself that was a remnant of someone else’s actions. Someone else’s fault. Never your own junk. It was all just the past, but nothing present. NEVER did you let me see inside your head. NEVER did you tell me about your feelings." A more vulnerable note snuck in and Tobin wanted to maim it. "…Whether for me or anything else."

Christen exhaled hotly and turned back to the suitcase. Shorts now.

"You talked about sex but you never talked about _people._ About actual real people. You were all about secretly guiding me to confront my emotions apparently — though I think that’s just the bullshit you’re using to hide from admitting what _you_ want. But, _me_ — who you ASKED to help you, remember? — you never let me past the wall of 'what if I can’t have sex?’ Like the only problem that exists in your life is your _vagina_." Both hands lofted to the ceiling in a contemptuous salute. "Well, guess what Christen, there is a lot more to a healthy relationship than sex. And you are proving it. Right. Now."

"We’re not _in_ a relationship Tobin," lips twisted, eyes dark and ugly with it. "I don’t owe you anything."

Tobin’s heart seized underneath the fury and she shoved it down ruthlessly.

"This isn’t about _me._ You owe it to yourself, Christen. You are so fucking _walled_ it’s amazing I thought I knew you at all! You legitimately had me believing that the only thing you needed in life was the ability to have sex. But you know what? Sex isn’t going to solve anything for you. You may be fucking orgasmic, but until you learn to, I don’t know, actually _share a little_ about this apparent insanity inside of you, you may as well date a vibrator!"

_Here we go._

"Fuck you." Rage. Rage so very clearly bridled by the gritted teeth that it was somehow more terrifying for the restraint.

Tobin had no self-preservation left to care.

"Been there. And you know what? Wish I’d kept the gift receipt to the most" and she put special emphasis here, " _emotionally_ -deceitful girl-on-girl sex ever. Next time you want to throw someone a coming out party, Christen, do me a favor—" it was a moment born for the dramatic pause, "just buy her a cake."

Silence.

Christen’s face was just blank now. Tobin found it even more terrible than the face before.

Sure fingers zipped the bag closed.

"…Are you done?"

_Yes._

_…No._

Tobin inhaled through her nostrils.

"No. No, I have one last thing to say."

She could tell they were near the end of this. The time for anger was over. If she wanted any chance — _any_ — she needed to pull it together for this moment.

Tobin breathed in carefully and slow, lessening the palpable pressure of the room but somehow leaving it thinner and sharper for the breath.

Nearby, Christen realized she didn’t want this. She wanted it to stay heated and thick and cruel because that she could handle. She didn’t want truth. She didn’t want care.

She closed and spun the little lock on the zip of the bag, turning to face the eyes now reading far too much of pain and far too little of the rage Christen felt justified warring against.

"I am _sorry_ that I turned some of this into something for me. That I was taking things I didn’t ask you for." Tobin’s eyes were big and sorrowing and pleading and Christen wanted to claw her own eyes shut just so she didn’t have to look. "You gave me permission to touch but not to _feel_ about you while I did it. I was wrong to do that and I apologize."

Crescent moons were seconds from bleeding out from the forward’s palms.

…"But you are tearing me to _pieces,_ Christen." 

_Kill it, Christen. That will only lead to trouble. Kill it.  
_

_"_ For the first time in my life, I think there is actually someone who is hurting me more than _I_ hurt me."

The brown wasn’t just large but wet now too — not dripping, but the evidence of agony was clear all the same. "And I don’t know why you’re doing it. I don’t know if there are feelings for me you can’t face. I don’t know if you legitimately can’t see how repressed — and I’m not talking sexually — you are. I don’t even know if you’re truly just _mean_."

Tobin’s last offerings were choked. Like her vocal cords were one thread from snapping.

"But you _did_ make a mistake here. You are in the wrong. I gave you _everything_ last night, and"— that one thread left was soft, pleading, and Christen just wanted it to break already— "I was with you last night, Christen. Holding you. And for a moment… you felt safe giving me everything too. So much more than just physical. It was all of you."

Tobin swallowed.

"But if you can’t see that… Can’t _admit_ that to me … I can’t stick around, Christen. I can’t handle this. I’m not _strong_ enough." It was like a door creaking as it inched shut. "So either figure this out… or - or erase me from this picture, because I’m done."

Those big eyes peered up into green once more.

"Please, Christen. We can still do this. There’s still a chance."

Tobin waited, a piercing inward keen increasing volume every millisecond from the humming space behind her ears.

With a ruthlessly spartan ease to it, the other woman hefted her suitcase to the floor.

Then, flipping it to a stand, testing that it sat solid on its wheels with a tug, Christen grabbed her purse from the TV stand, pulled it over her shoulder, and walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley: Do you know why koalas aren’t classified as bears?  
> Becky: Because they’re marsupials.  
> Kelley:  
> Becky:  
> Kelley: {starts to leave} (mutters under her breath) Because they’re marsupials- NO, ITS BECAUSE THEY DON’T HAVE THE KOALAIFICATIONS.
> 
> And I don’t have the koalaifications for the therapy I, and Tobin, and Christen, and now you need. My deepest apologies. Truly. But leave a comment anyway? It may stop my tears.
> 
> 1) Be honest, how was the smut? Still a newbie here. 2) Then how much did I crash your vibe after? (I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. I just do what the muses say.)
> 
> But seriously, how you doing fam?


	8. Finding Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Perry…" this was the most real moment she thought her and her sister had ever had and her throat was thick with it. "I did trust you. You were my hero. But that shouldn’t have been on you. That wasn’t right for you to have to feel that way as a kid yourself. You should have had us do that for you. Be there for you. For your losses. Your wins."
> 
> Perry shrugged; looked up at a cloud like she was trying to decide if it was a rabbit or a duck. "… No, I guess it probably wasn’t. But I can’t change the fact that it was true." She let her head fall back into the grass again towards her sister. "And we can’t rewrite the past, Tobin. So let me claim the blessing it was. That I got to be your big sister. And at the end of the day … that was the only thing I wanted to win at anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily: Lindsey, truth or dare?  
> Lindsey: Truth  
> Emily: What is your credit card number?  
> Lindsey: …Dare.  
> Emily: I dare you to tell me your credit card number.  
> Christen: Emily!  
> Emily: I want WaffleHouse and I’m broke.  
> Kelley: Honestly, it’s like looking in a mirror.
> 
> Trigger warning: Religious Guilt  
> Happy warning: Friends help

**8/30/16  
 **Miami, Florida  
 **Villa Woodbine  
 **The Wedding of Allie Long and Jose Batista** ******

They never did share a dance.

It was the first time she’d seen her since.

Tobin hated that she let herself hope for one at all.

* * *

**9/02/16   
**Kansas City, Missouri  
 **Swope Park  
 **3 weeks after Rio** ******

_"Is anyone else kind of glad they lost?After Abby Wambach's parting comments regarding the men's team and some of the other issues surrounding certain team members I've just had a bad taste in my mouth regarding the USWNT.Besides, I think getting knocked down a peg will only serve them well, I hate to say it but they needed it."_

_"And speaking of Christen Press......look, I would put a ring on that woman in a heartbeat but her performance was atrocious. I mean....passing to a clearly offside player when you were in front of a wide open net, skying your shots to the top row, misplaced passes, missing your penalty shot........shouldn't have been on the squad at all….."_

"And look, this one isn’t even a comment. It’s a published article!"

_"Once the U.S. scored, it was time to restore the backline to the standard four and that’s where the head-scratcher began. Rather than put on Ali Krieger, the starting right back at the World Cup and a proven penalty kick taker, Ellis replaced Rapinoe with Christen Press who was mostly ineffective even before skying the anchor spot kick high." (Equalizer soccer, Dan Lauletta, Aug 13, 2016)_

_"_ …Mostly ineffective even _before_ skying the kick, _"_ Christen repeated emphatically.

Becky was juggling in a round robin, foot to knee, to other knee, to other foot, and then back again. So far, she’d made it through 7 circuits without a drop.

"You know, Christen," _bounce_ , "when I said you’d be welcome to stay with me for a while," she took a moment to inhale, eye on the ball as it went a tad wonky but landed true, "I really didn’t anticipate you reading these to me daily. Gotta say," _bounce, bounce_ , "not really great for morale."

Christen watched dispassionately.

"How am I supposed to do anything else, Becky? Hope made fools of us in the news.We _lost_ the Olympics. And I was the one who skyed the shot!"

_Bounce._

"You could look at the dogs everyone is sending."

Christen rolled her eyes. Fans knew it had to suck missing the key PK. Thus, some well-meaning soul had started the #dogsforChristen campaign where everyone sent photos of their pets to try to cheer her up. It was sweet. They were just trying to help. Plus, the dogs were adorable and she’d looked at a lot of them when she struggled to fall asleep, missing that familiar breathi— _Don’t think about it_. But it also meant that every time someone shared a photo, someone’s random aunt or coworker in the world who didn’t even follow soccer would look up what it was about and learn how she’d single-handedly tanked the nation.

Christen fell back into the grass with a huff.

"Guess not then." Becky caught the ball midair, tucking it in her arm before dropping next to the brown body in the grass, swinging her braid over her shoulder.

"Look, you’re not the only one being implicated. Julie and I have had write-ups about how we let that ball through the backline. They wouldn’t have scored at all in the 90 if it wasn’t for me. And Alex missed her shot too. Everyone is criticizing Jill for putting Tobin" (Christen’s stomach clenched) "in the back and wasting her foot skills. This was not _you_ and you know it. Win together, lose together. We do it as a team. And have I gone down the rabbit hole of comments and people saying I should age off the team? Sure. But you remember that there is a reason that you’re a professional athlete and they’re not — so, you saw _screw them_ and move on."

She was met with sulking silence. Becky poked her stomach, Christen slapping a hand at it in return.

"Ok, let’s try this another way. If I may, I’d like to read something I found on the internet that gave me a lot of encouragement after the loss."

"…Whatever."

"Perfect. I’ll take that as a yes." Becky messed with her phone a minute, searching for a link.

Christen frowned. "Why do you have sound on for typing? That’s literally the worst. There is not a human in the world who likes a noise for every single letter they press."

Becky kicked her in the shin and Christen squinched up with a gasp, rolling through the grass till she was beyond reach of those vicious cleats.

" _Ouch_ , Becky."

"You’re fine. Give me a moment." Several more plunks. _Seriously why do they sound like that. I’m going to sneak her phone away and change her settings the moment I can._

"Ah, here we go. Ok, and quote:

'Clint Bruce — former NFL Qarterback and Navy Seal Commander — spoke to the USWNT in 2015 about what he calls 'pursuing the elite.' He said that 'Elite in this land is only for the restless.' While I don’t know if I exist in the land of the elite, I’m definitely on the battlefield with restlessness. My restlessness leaves my mind racing as I try to wind down at the end of mandatory recovery days. It keeps me tossing after poor performances. And if I played well, well… playing well makes me itch to play better; there is always room for improvement.'"

Becky scrolls briefly. "Ah, here, it picks up again:"

"…As I listened to him, I realizes that 'elite' doesn’t mean greatness itself— but the unwavering _pursuit_ of greatness. While greatness may always be viewed as a comparison to the outside world: good, better, best; _inside_ ," and here Becky’s voice got exaggeratedly pronounced. " _I_ know what really matters is the Relentless. Fight. For. Progress."

Becky looked pointedly at her. "Now isn’t that a nice interpretation of what it means to succeed in sport or not, hm?" The eyebrow raise was frankly gratuitous at this point and Christen blushed.

"… You’ve read my blog?"

Becky smiled with a tad less sarcasm and a little more care. "I read everything Christen. Of course I read brilliant and relevant articles on soccer from someone who actually knows what it’s like. I’ve followed it since you started in Sweden."

Christen hid her face behind an arm.

She’ll admit, it was something to have your own past words used against you. Maybe she really did need to let this one go.

Becky smirked. "There you go, Press. I see it starting to turn in there."

Christen tore up a fist of grass and tossed it at her, several sticking in her hair as the blonde woman sputtered.

Christen glanced to a grassy knoll across the sidewalk they’d taken to get here. Kids were playing a pick-up game and happy shouts and calls for the ball drifted through on the gusts of wind stirring warmly through the air. Becky tracked her focus.

"Ready to get back in the game, Press?"

And with a grin and a hop they were both jogging over to see if they could jump in. The kids were amenable enough, seemingly excited to have adults who considered them worth playing with. Becky and Christen each took a side, laughing their way through the most disorganized yet highly-competitive match they’d seen in a long time. There were boys and girls from 8 to 18 it seemed, several sets of what looked like siblings, and at least one flirting pair who ran into each other more than anyone else on the field. Becky grinned over at Christen when if happened for the 5th time, the two teenagers pressed chest to chest on the ground after a collision, blushing mightily and flagrantly slow to rise from their precarious situation.

With a final raucous "last goal wins!" push, Christen led her team to victory, taking the ball up the green and putting it right at the feet of a young girl who had been outmatched in speed and mass by most of the other players but showed surprisingly wicked foot skills. With a flick around a defender and a quick step, she popped it into the upper 90 of the ragged string and pipe goal.

Cheers and groans exploded in equal measure but most everyone seemed happy enough. Christen laughed when what looked to be an older brother grabbed the girl, hoisted her on his shoulders and ran around the field with arms outstretched shouting "GOLAZOOOOOOO." The girl had dug her hands in his hair, screaming with laughter.

She and Becky gathered their things to go, trading smack talk and laughs over their back at the scattering pack of kids. They were just poised to leave when Becky grabbed Christen’s shoulder.

"Can you hold on a moment?"

Becky jogged up to the girl and brother who were now standing near a young Latina woman with pink nursing scrubs. Christen could see Becky introducing herself, talking animatedly with her hands as she gestured to the field and the blushing girl. A little more talk. Nodding. The girl was tugging on her mom’s shirt with wide eyes and a growing grin. The mother laughed and scruffed her hair - the brother choosing to punch her shoulder instead, then throwing his arms around her as she dug her face in his stomach. Then Becky took the woman’s phone to type something in. Reached out a hand for the little girl to shake in mock formality, both grinning widely.

Becky jogged back with a smile.

"What was that about?"

"I was talking to her mother. Wanted a sense of what was available in the area and possible for them specifically."

"What do you mean?"

"She’s a single mom it sounds like. Good income but not enough for camps or travel teams. I wanted her to know the girl was good. Really good. And she may just need an opportunity to be as big as us one day. So I’m paying for her registration and travel fees for the local U-12 development team. Said I’d do a private lesson too when the season is over."

"Becky!" Christen gasped as she slid into the woman’s jeep, buckling as the blonde hopped in her side and started up the engine.

Out on the sidewalk, the little girl was shaking her mom’s arm as her brother laughed.

Becky put both hands on the wheel and shifted into reverse but let her foot linger on the brake pedal.

Christen peered over.

"…It’s been a horrible few weeks. And the words being written are harsh, and unthinking, and sometimes, unfortunately, the most painful version of the truth." She flicked her braid behind her shoulder, and looked at Christen with a settled glow, like someone who’s fought hard all day and finally gets to sit down and drink a beer.

"I wanted to have something good to remember about this season. Something that wasn’t petty and mean. And sometimes you have to provide those moments yourself."

Christen could see the beauty in that. The wisdom even — Becky was captain for a reason.

So she couldn’t say why it sat so strangely in her stomach the entire ride home.

* * *

**9/15/16  
 **Friendly: US v Thailand (9-0)  
 **Columbus, Ohio  
 **Goals: Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd, Press, O’Reilly, Heath, Dunn, Morgan, Morgan** ******

When Tobin arrived at the hotel front desk, she was told she was sharing a room with Alex Morgan.

She shoved the key in her pocket with a nod.

* * *

**9/18/16  
 **Friendly: US v Netherlands (3-1)  
 **Atlanta, GA  
 **Goals: Lloyd, Long, Own Goal** ******

"Hey Tobin, can we talk?"

Tobin felt her throat close up and she pulled at the neck of her t-shirt.

"What is it, Christen?"

God, even she found her voice pathetic. She straightened her shoulders to counteract the whisper.

Fingers drummed against the empty chair back. "I just feel like we need to put this thing behind us. This season has really sucked. Majorly. But I want something good to remember about it too."

_Wait…_

_Oh God, is she… is this —_

"After Sweden… well, I think we both said a lot of things we didn’t mean. So, let’s put the petty behind us and get on the same page, right?"

She was scared to name the welling emotion, but … 'hopeful'. Like light under a crack in the door.

Tobin watched as other women left the breakfast hall, trickling out in twos and threes. Christen lifted her hands off the top bar and slid around into the chair like a goddamn angel, that familiar teatree filling Tobin’s senses. She knew what heavier, sweeter notes would be breaking through soon.

"Uh… so, what does that look like… what do you…"

"I want to apologize."

Tobin couldn’t speak if she wanted to.

"For letting you think what we were doing was a game. That wasn’t true."

_Breathe, Tobin._

_But… is it happening?!_

_Breathe._

And there is was — the rose, drifting in through the sharp of her shampoo. She inhaled deeply — instinctually — desperately —

"What was true, then?" It didn’t even sound like her voice. But she couldn’t clear her throat. Any movement felt too risky.

"You were being a good friend. You were only doing what I’d asked you to. And yes, maybe you were dealing with some things during it, but I was too focused on myself. Not on what you might be experiencing. So… I’m sorry. I should have stopped when I realized it was becoming something more to you."

And just like that, every bone in Tobin’s body had become a black hole, trying to suck her in.

Honestly, she’d welcome the oblivion.

"And I shouldn’t have said it was the reason we lost. At the end of the day, it was me. My PK. My nerves. And I have to own that."

 _You still don’t get it._

_You don’t. Get. It._

"I know that it came across badly when I said it before but… I really do think we both won. You helped me get comfortable with something that has been elusive for years. That’s an incredible gift, Tobin. It’s going to be really valuable to me one day." Her chin jutted forward towards the midfielder. "And you got to realize you’re bi."

_…Wait, what?_

"So, we can just leave it in the past and be thankful for it, right?" She brightened. "And hey, I didn’t get to say. Congratulations!"

"For what?"

_This was — Oh, God this was horrib—_

"That guy - the one you slept with.It was your first time and, well, I never got to say it. So…" her head tipped in that way that always made Tobin’s heart syncope, "congratulations. I know it probably gives you a lot of relief that that’s an option too. Not that I’m saying he has a problem with it — you know I don’t care about that, but — I don’t know, maybe God has a guy for you after all. Someone you’ll get that ' _boom_ ' for. "

Christen was _smiling._

Like she actually _meant it._

All inside Tobin the walls were crashing in.

No - not walls. Skyscrapers and bridges and… fucking planes crashing in jagged rocky piles of ruin.

"… Thanks…"

_You need to leave._

_Leave._

_Leave._

"I guess we’re good now so… I’m gonna," she gestured with her thumb.

Christen nodded. "Yeah, thanks for hearing me out, Tobin. Really. I’m sorry for how I handled things, and I hope we can get back to normal now."

Tobin swallowed hard. "See you on the field, Press."

* * *

She headed straight to the showers after the game; could hear everyone as they straggled in after, but she just kept standing there, water beating against her back as laughs echoed in the stalls nearby.

Tobin just stood.

She just stood there till they were all gone.

* * *

She contemplated the razor. Just for a minute. But it wouldn’t solve anything anyway.

Nothing could fix how this felt.

* * *

" _Oh, Tobin._ Tobin, I _—_ Um. Just — just give me a moment. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be — I’ll be right back." 

* * *

"Allie!"

She paused on the steps of the bus, one foot already poised at the top level.

"Allie!"

Kelley, waiting on the step behind her, glanced back before peering up at the blonde with a shrug.

"Uh, I’ll be right back."

She hopped the steps and trotted towards the girl who was planted a few paces away from the bus, stiff with her arms around her waist.

"What’s up, Mal?"

A twist on her mouth. Like she was biting the inside of her cheek. "Can you come with me?"

"What’s wrong? Do you want me to get Chris for you?"

The girl shook her head aggressively.

Allie tried again: "Can we talk at the hote—"

"Tobin’s crying."

The words made sense but Allie took a moment to register anyway.

"What do you mean? Tobin doesn’t cry."

But a little hand grabbed insistently on hers, tugging towards the showers. "Come _on."_

She stumbled after her, grabbing her phone to send a one-handed text to Kelley; _tell them they can leave._

Mallory led her back to the locker rooms, dragging her through the empty row of metal. "Mal, what’s—"

"Come _on."_ Seemed like she wouldn’t get more than that.

As they walked into the damp bathroom, Allie could hear the drip of faucets, and pipes, and somewhere, towards the back, a little choked moan.

Mal marched her right to the sound and —

_Oh._

_Oh, God._

Tobin was there. On the ground.

Allie’s eyes canvassed for any injuries or signs of violence, frantic, but coming up empty.

"Tobin?"

The woman was leant against the wall in a soaked towel, half wet from the recent shower spray that had pooled on the floor and was now soaking up through the terrycloth inch by inch.

She crouched down. "Tobin?"

That honey hair was dripping still, caught in long wet tendrils tangled around her face as her head tipped up. Allie gasped — she’d never seen her friend like this. Her eyes were huge. Red and shattered. 

_"Hey, Harry,"_ she croaked.

"Hey… Hey, sweet girl." Allie swung down to sit against the wall with her, glancing up briefly at Mal who was standing chewing her thumbnail. She turned back to Tobin.

"What’s going on, honey?"

Tobin started to cry again instantly, and Allie felt panic rise in her chest.

"Whoa, whoa, ok, _shhhh_ Tobin, come here."

She dragged outstretched tan legs over her own and slipped an arm around the woman’s towel-clad back. Turned her into the movement; used the other to tilt her chin back up.

"Why are you crying?"

The woman’s lip trembled.

"…Do you think God is punishing me? Do you think this was His way of showing me what I wanted was bad, and painful and evil? Do you think—" Tobin choked on her own words, a sob erupting the moment she caught her breath.

"No, sweetie! No. Oh honey, no." Allie clutched the weeping frame to her chest, hand stroking blindly at a cheek as her own chest lurched in the sudden urge to cry. She shoved it down tight into the darkness. "What are you talking about?! Sweetie, no. God loves you, honey. I promise."

But Tobin’s head was batting lightly against Allie’s collarbone like a metronome. "It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault—"

" _No_ , Tobin," she tried to hold the head still, tried to clutch it to her chest but— 

"Then why did this _happen_ " Tobin flung up with wild eyes, "why does it have to," she drew in a shuddering breath, "h-hurt so bad, Allie. I c-can’t — I can’t _take it."_ Her body was fully shaking now, Mal’s eyes wide in fear at it, as Allie did everything she could to contain that tremble in her arms.

"I wanna die, Allie. I feel like I wanna _die_." The words were released in a quiet moan against her collarbone, Tobin’s hair dripping long lines of wet into Allie’s now mottled pullover.

"Sweetie…" Allie’s head hit back against the shower wall, renegade tears slashing through the jail of her eyelids. Tobin’s hands were clutching the damp fabric in desperation, pulling even when they had purchase like maybe she could pull the blonde’s whole body into her if she tried hard enough. Mal was running a gentle and tentative hand over the brunette’s forehead with little repetitive _shh shh shh’_ s, pulling the soaked strands back from her eyes with a tenderness that made Allie want to fling open the cell and weep.

"I’m _bad,_ Allie. I must be _bad._ I’m—"

"No, sweetie, you’re good. You’re so good."

"Toby," the girl was crouched right in front of their bodies now, knees tight against her own chest. "You help me when I’m sad. You know the names of every single aide on staff. You put extra in barista tip jars, I’ve seen it. You —"

Tobin keened with a mournful wail, head tucked tight under Allie’s chin again. " _No!_ I’m bad. I’m bad."

The blonde met the girl’s frantic eyes; mouthed a _shh, it’s ok._

 _"_ She’s right, Tobin. You’re good. You’re good. God loves you and you’re good." Allie swallowed the emotion in her throat so she could speak confidently and strong. "We’re going to figure this out, honey. We’re going to make you feel better. It’ll be ok."

The body just trembled against her, quiet little moans rumbling into Allie’s shattered chest.

She rocked the towel-clad woman like the motion alone could heal, a small dark hand clasped tight and loving on the woman’s knee every arc of the way.

* * *

"Park or rooftop, Tobin?"

The three women were driving down I-285 with the windows down, Allie at the wheel. ( _"Where’d you get a car?" "Best not to ask questions, kid.")_

After finally getting Tobin into a present enough state to dress and follow basic directions (" _Wait here with Mal, I’ll be right back")_ Allie had decided they needed a better place to talk. And in her experience with one Ms. Tobin Heath, that meant either a park with a soccer ball, or the top level of an empty parking garage.

Allie checked on the kid in the mirror. She had her chin on her hand, staring out the window, but she looked okay enough. She’d probably really need a hug and a chance to process later though. _And a thank you. I’m so glad she got me before I left._

"Tobin?"

"…Rooftop."

Allie nodded.

As they approached the Seven One Seven, she pulled through a nearby McDonalds and ordered 3 cones, figuring they could all use a pick me up and something to do with their hands.

They pulled all the way up to the farthest wall of the open top floor, Allie killing the engine and then hopping out to sit on the bumper. The city was bright for evening time, ambient light filtering through the landscape until you could only see a smattering of stars.

Two more doors rang shut, the other passengers walking up to both lean against the railing.

"Pretty," Mal mumbled.

"Tobin and I used to do this at UNC. Cheap entertainment and a way to get out of the soccer house when it was too loud."

Mal tipped her head at the brunette, waiting for participation.

"Yeah." Tobin cleared her throat until it sounded somewhat human again. "Yeah, nobody used the art department after night really, so it was always empty. Good for kicking a ball around too."

Allie snorted. "Lost a few that way."

" _You_ did."

The blonde grinned, thankful her Harry still had a bit of fire. But like a break in the clouds, it was just a moment and Tobin’s face grew shadowed again.

Allie sighed. "Alright, Tobin. Let us into that head of yours. What’s going on?"

The kid drummed her fingers on the railing, head fixed on the cityscape. Trying not to look over and spook her off Allie suspected.

_Smart girl. Intuitive._

Tobin scuffed her foot against the pavement; knocked it lightly against the wall.

"I… Christen and I slept together."

"Like…?"

"Yeah."

"And—"

"—It didn’t go well."

Allie re-situated on the car hood, elbows lodged on her knees.

"What do you mean it didn’t go well? Like it was bad, or…?"

" _No."_ Tobin scrubbed at her face with a hand, the other precariously tipping the near-forgotten cone. "No. It was … it was … everything."

"When was this?"

"… The night before the quarterfinal."

_Ah._

Allie waited her out.

"She said… she said afterwards, after we lost … she said it was a mistake. That we’d ruined things."

Mal’s ice cream was dripping to land on her left hand unnoticed, right thumb back between her teeth instead.

"Tobin… us losing a soccer game isn’t your fault.’

"No, I know. I …"

"No, _really,"_ Allie insisted. "There is no correlation between those things."

Tobin sighed, took a bite of her ice cream teeth first in that way that had always made Allie shudder. Licked her lips before continuing."That’s not what I meant."

"Meant where?"

"In the shower."

Allie marked the taut lines of her shoulders; the way her scapulae tensed and shifted.

"Ok, then explain it to me, what is your fault?"

Tobin tapped the wall again, the front of her sneaker sticking afterwards to perch against the concrete.

" _Tobin_."

She swung around, nostrils flared in a huff. "Me and Christen. How it went. I think God is mad at me, ok? I think He’s …"

"For what, babe?"

"For…" her voice cracked again, emerging as a whisper. "For loving her like that."

Allie’s head cocked to the side. "You mean…"

"For loving a woman like that."

Allie’s eyebrows couldn’t help but furrow. "…Tobin, half of your best friends are lesbians."

"I KNOW. And I don’t have a problem with that! I don’t. But I think He has a problem with… _ME_ being like that."

_Ok, that was enough._

Allie tossed the last few bites of her cone over the side of the building, hands scrubbing their sweetness off on her shorts, and marched the few steps over to where Tobin hunched miserably looking at the skyline.

Allie punched her in the shoulder.

" _OW,_ Allie."

"You deserved it!"

"WHY?"

"What sort of southern white Baptist homophobia are you clinging on to?" She punched her again.

"OW."

"You love your friends. You wear Pride jerseys. You donate every year to rainbow runaway shelters. Why on _earth_ would you hold yourself to a different standard?"

"I DON’T KNOW, OK." The woman snapped, rubbing her shoulder darkly.

"Christ, Tobin," Allie ran a hand through her hair, then checked once more on the kid, just in case. She was still at the railing, peering out at the moving cars down below. The blonde tried to calm down. Took a deep breath.

"…Is this about your family?"

The brunette just kept rubbing her shoulder, scowling into the night.

"Babe," Allie sighed. "Even if they wouldn’t be ok with this — that’s on them. Not on you. And not on God."

"I’m not _gay_ , Allie!"

"Are you _sure!?_ Because it sure sounds to me like you are! You’re destroyed over her not wanting you!"

Tobin burst into tears.

"Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m sorry honey, come here," Allie pulled Tobin into her arms, rubbing circles into her back as the other ice cream melted unnoticed into the concrete. "I’m sorry. I know it hurts."

"I thought it was s-so _good._ I felt like the whole world could be ok if I could just stay there with her forever. Even when we lost I just wanted to get back to her. She’s so… she’s so _special,_ Allie. I like her so much. I like her s-so. Much."

"I know, baby," Tobin’s nose was digging into her neck, tears dripping into the hem of her shirt all over again.

"And she doesn’t want _me."_

 _"Shh, shhhh._ It’s ok. It’ll be ok."

Allie felt tiny arms wind between their stomachs, locking fists until Mal was pressed completely up against Tobin’s back, squeezing her as tight as she could. " _I_ love you, Toby."

Tobin laughed wetly, exiting Allie’s soaked neck to arch an arm back and over the girl, pulling her tight against her side. "Thanks, Mal."

_Frickin precious. I could kiss this kid._

_"_ See, Tobs? You’ve got Mal. You’ve got me. You’ve got so many more people who love you just for you. Who _want_ to know you just for who you are. And I think, deep down, you know that God wants that for you too. What you’re feeling is the hangover of a lot of lies… but you’ve spent too much time with Him by now to really doubt this one, Tobin. Not really."

The brunette sniffed, an arm clutched around each of her girls. Another watery chuckle fell from her mouth. "You’re probably right. I — uh. I will consider that. Truly. Thanks, guys." She lifted an arm from Mal, the girl’s still wrapped tight around her, to rub the back of a hand under her eyes. "God, I’ve never cried so much in my _life."_

Allie kissed her messily right on the cheek.

"It’s beautiful, Tobin. We’re honored you let us see." Her eyebrow quirked up. "…Now let’s get back. It’s past the kid’s bed time."

_"Hey!"_

Tobin squeezed them both one more time before they all started shuffling to various car doors.

Perhaps feeling this way wouldn’t be so bad after all — not if it gave her friendships like these. There was processing left to be done, it’s true, but…

Reaching up to tighten her ponytail, she gave one last look at the skyline, then hopped in the car with a metallic slam.

 _("…Wait, seriously, where did you get this?_ )

* * *

**10/19/16  
 **Friendly: USA v SUI (4-0)  
 **Sandy, Utah  
 **Goals: Williams, Heath, Press, Mewis** ******

She told Alex everything that night. Every single detail of Frisco to Rio. Well, not Christen’s stuff — that wasn’t hers to share. But what their time had been to Tobin.

Then they texted Allie to come over. And as she shared about the prayers she’d been praying since; the peace she’d been gifted; the feelings she was owning; the future she was daring to dream; it felt good. It felt like absolution. It felt like a home.

She wasn’t sleeping. A limb was missing and she’d wake in the night aching for it, a phantom feminine timbre still hanging in the air.

That’d probably take a while, honestly.

But she knew, no matter what happened next, no matter what happened with Christen… she had what she needed to be ok.

God had made her strong and He’d made her feeling.

And from now on she wanted to be both those things at once.

* * *

**10/21/16  
 **The Heath Home  
 **Morristown, New Jersey** ****

"Ok, not that I don’t love you, but why are you back here again?"

"Perry!"

Tobin leaped off the couch — feet catching in a near-injurious blanket-swaddled fumble — before flinging into the arms of her sister. "What are you doing here?!"

"Well, I heard my little sister was here not for the first, not for the second, but for the _third_ time in as many months, and that felt like reason enough to come check in. I left the kids with Tom." Her head quirked at the TV."… Are you watching Peter Pan?"

Tobin grabbed the remote and slammed the power button. "Not anymore! I’m hanging out with my tied-for-first favorite sister!" Grinned as big as the moon.

Perry chuckled. "Always so fair." She eyed her sister’s Ridge High School gym shorts, clearly dug from the depths of a closet, and dark eyes. "…You look like crap."

"Ouch." A mock pout. "Watch out, Per, you might fall into second."

"For telling the truth? Tough gig. Now go get your shoes, we’re going on a walk."

10 minutes and a "Perry and I are going out! Be back later!" shouted to whoever may be closest to hear, they were through the door and heading down a familiar mile loop through the neighborhood.

"So really now, why are you home? Is it just needing a place to crash from the Olympics?"

"No." Tobin eased into that sweet and familiar motion of moving her legs. Filling her lungs. "That’s part of it but… I don’t know. I’ve been growing a lot the past few months, Perry. I’ve been really looking at my life, and my heart, and the things I believe. And coming home felt like something I needed. There are a lot of things here that I need to apologize for. Then things I need to say."

"Apologize for? What are you talking about?"

"I’m glad you’re here, honestly," she offered shyly. "I have some things I’ve needed to say to you specifically."

A brown head tilted, dappling into a sudden array of honey and mahogany from the filter of a sidewalk-entrenched tree overhead. Tobin’s fingers twitched in a subconscious mixing of imaginary paints.

"…I’ve been starting to realize some things about myself. I noticed them in a friend first and I thought it was such a stupid thing. Such an obvious flaw. But the more I looked at my own life, the more I saw pieces of it in me too."

People were walking their way and Tobin stepped to the side, smiling at the older couple as they passed.

"Soccer is… well, it can consume things. Not just time, but … mental space, you know? Like, it sucks up all of the creativity and the bravery and the desires in your life and claims them for itself." She autocorrected. "Well, if you let it. It can also be so good and I love it but… I don’t want it to make me _miss_ things anymore. I don’t want to wait for life to start when I’m done with soccer. I want it at the same time."

Perry smiled next to her — squeezed at her shoulder briefly. "That’s awesome, Tobin. Sounds like it’s really healthy, honestly." Brows creased. "But I don’t see what that has to do with me."

Tobin’s lips disappeared into her mouth; then, released through the slow drag of her teeth.

"I’m also realizing that someone’s views on soccer affect the people _around_ them too. More than it should. More than is fair." She glanced over briefly, barely a second and Perry tried to catch her eyes again — failed. Even her voice was hard to catch now.

"I’d be a really bad sister if I couldn’t admit how much my soccer impacted _you._ I didn’t always know it at the time. I could see hints of it but the more I’ve thought recently, the more I’ve considered… well, you gave up a lot of things so I could have soccer. Things you didn’t agree to give up. Things I took."

"Tobin—"

"No, let me finish. You lost countless weekends. You lost having your parents at your games. You lost hours of dinners that were all about me and how my accomplishments were going. You lost mom so often. And… this one hurts me so much, Perry. But you lost _me._ I was your sister, and I loved you." Her eyes clenched briefly and Perry was amazed at the hint of wet in them. The rareness of it. The newness. "I _love you._ SO much. And instead of showing that, instead of being with you, for you, I just… played soccer." It was like a curse and a cry in one.

"Tob—"

The brunette spun to face her, halting in the middle of the sidewalk.

"It haunts me, sometimes. Jeff with Dad. Me with Mom. Katie with the Davidsons." The sister’s shared an automatic and muted laugh — it really had been like she was theirs. But the air thickened again quickly. "But Perry. Over and over again I have tried to figure it out, and I can’t. Who did _you_ have?" Tobin looked on the edge of tears — on the edge of a cliff. Like this answer could make or break her and she expected nothing but the latter.

Yeah, the sidewalk wasn’t going to work for this.

Perry spot-checked where they were.

Nothing. Not even a bench.

Checked her fit-bit.

Well, this would have to do.

"We’re a half mile from the house."

Tobin’s brow creased. "What?"

"— _RACE YOU—"_

And like a shot, Perry was off, dodging through a cluster of teenagers flirting, desperate to get as much of a head start as she could.

Doesn’t count for much when your sister is a literal Olympian.

Tobin was beside her before she had made it a block, keeping pace easily with that confused-puppy look on her face that Perry had always loved, but also that competitive hint that had been present since the girl had learned to walk.

Not much of a competition Perry had to admit, chest heaving as she slumped to her back in the grass behind their house.

"Did you really have to make the last block a sprint??"

_Air. Lungs. It’s polite to introduce yourselves._

"Well, apparently my sister felt like it was a nice time of day to get a workout, so just thought I’d help her out."

_Note to self: get a gym membership._

"Your sister is an idiot."

Tobin flopped next to her and laughed, lungs ridiculously clear like she’d only walked from the couch to the refrigerator and back. Perry would consider punching her if she could move.

"Hey, don’t talk about my family like that!"

A few breaths later, thankfully marginally deeper than before, the older woman flopped her head over into the green, making sure those honey brown eyes were locked on hers.

"You were wrong, Tobin."

Back in it then. Tobin’s gaze turned despondent instantly. "Wrong about what?"

"That I didn’t have you. You weren’t mom’s. Not really. I know she took you to everything, and there were all those hours in cars and training. But you weren’t hers. You were always mine."

"Perry…"

"It’s true. Every moment I had with you was precious. You were this… gosh, just this perfect kid. The most perfect kid I could imagine. I was so happy you were my little sister. So happy I got to be _your_ big sister."

Perry reached a hand out in the grass.

After one conflicted swallow, Tobin took it.

"You made me so happy. Every time you won. Every time you lost but came back more determined. Every time you failed a test and I could see how ashamed you were … but then you’d come to _me_ and let _me_ help you figure out what went wrong. Like you knew I would never — could never — think less of you." The hand squeezed. "When you’d make up lame jokes, when you’d try to help dad with the car and get covered in grease, when you insisted on watching the Lion King every night for a month. I loved it all, Toby."

She smiled gently.

"And to be there for you … I know things got tough for a while. Maybe a long while. But I wanted nothing more than to be someone you could trust. Someone you could come home to and know was always on your team."

"Perry…" this was the most real moment she thought her and her sister had ever had and her throat was thick with it. "I did trust you. You were my hero. But that _shouldn’t_ have been on you. That wasn’t right for you to have to feel that way as a kid yourself. You should have had us do that for you. Be there for you. For _your_ losses. _Your_ wins."

Perry shrugged; looked up at a cloud like she was trying to decide if it was a rabbit or a duck. "… No, I guess it probably wasn’t. But I can’t change the fact that it was true." She let her head fall back into the grass again towards her sister. "And we can’t rewrite the past, Tobin. So let me claim the blessing it was. That I got to be your big sister. And at the end of the day … that was the only thing I wanted to win at anyway."

Tobin thought her chest surely must crack open with how big her heart was growing.

Tobin held her breath,

_This is your big sister,_

for one long moment,

and then,

_and she loves you._

Released it.

"I slept with someone." Breathed. "I slept with a woman, Perry."

Her sister’s fingers in hers felt heavy now. Scary. Like a stripped wire.

It was about 6 seconds before the silence was too much.

"…Are you going to say anything?"

A thumb rubbed against hers. Then a hum.

"…You aways did have a fascination with Priya Laalasa."

_What?_

That was one from the dust bin. Like… _what_?

Tobin’s mind whirred, trying to find an old memory and brush it off. Trying to see what the hell Perry was talking about because certainly Tobin should have known already if this was true.

Her chin tipped up towards blue as she reentered the halls of William Annin Middle School.

_Priya had the sort of skin that made you hate her. It was caramel in color and smoother than any teenager had a right to. In fact, the only interruption was a tiny scar cutting through the tail of her left eyebrow, disappearing over her eye, and picking up again on her cheekbone, just the tiniest spot of it.Two shades lighter than the rest of her skin, it held a mystery that people seemed beguiled by. When they were kids, Priya would have a different story for every inquiry. “Shark attack” — “saved my family from a robber” — “car accident when I was a baby. They say I flew 20 whole feet through the window.” Tobin always sat in ear’s distance at lunch, living for the moments some bold kid would come over to ask._

_At 13 she learned the truth. Turns out it was just a scar from the Caesarean. The doctor misread her position and, cutting in, sliced her forehead right open with a near miss of the eye in the drag to the cheekbone._

_Bloodied before her first breath._

_The pointless violence of it, bantered like dross in a room of gossiping mothers, left Tobin gasping from the hall._

_So some days she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, it really was a pirate, or a wolf, or the remnant of a secret society initiation. In class, Tobin would find herself entrenched in the imagination of hidden histories starring that almost-flawless face, completely unaware of where Mr. Kurtz was in his explanation of Pythagorean’s theorem. Then, when her subconscious jabbed her with an elbow and replayed the D she got on the last test, she’d have to remind herself that she didn’t even LIKE Priya anymore and scars weren’t cool, thank you very much._

_Today, though, was not that sort of day. Today was the sort of day where she scowled down the hallway at the unawares girl wishing she’d stop being so damn happy for a moment because the same boys who used to ask about her scar now tripped over their feet at her grin, and Tobin despised it.At that very moment in fact, Robert Denney was flexing against the lockers listening to her talk, completely oblivious to his half-zipped bag and the T-95 which sat one jostle away from shattering on the science hall floor._

_Tobin snorted. Pathetic._

_Yet, as the lunch bell rang, she couldn’t help but slip her hand in her pocket, fingering the little blade hiding in the dark._

_And when the stream of traffic led her away from that oddly frustrating scene, she startled at the unbidden birth of another story — dreamed in an instant — of what it might feel like for_ her _to be the one beside the locker. To run a finger down that hairline marring as a soft-smiling mouth murmured, "you know, we’re not so different, you and I." A finger tucking in her belt loop. "…I imagine stories for you too."_

Tobin groaned.

_Christ._

_"_ Oh my God _,_ Perry, you’re right. _I_ didn’t even know that." Incredulously. "How did you know that?!"

And yet, just another shrug.

"…Tobin, I always knew."

It was stated so simply — so truthfully — that Tobin couldn’t help but wonder how many had seen it all along.

She glanced at her sister’s furrowed brow. Head laying heavy in the grass with memory. "But you never said. You never brought it up."

Perry’s non-linked hand tugged at a bit of grass, ripping up a few leaves. Flexed there in a tense pause. "I wasn’t sure it was smart, Tobin. I wasn’t sure it was… the right thing to do."

Instantly, Tobin’s pulse was the loudest sound in her ears, rushing and breaking as she tried to silence it enough to hear her own artificially-casual, desperate-not-to-tremble voice. She tried to extricate her hand from her sister’s.

"You’re not… you don’t think it’s ok, then?"

Perry’s body twisted in an instant, grabbing the retreating fingers with her far hand instead; bent to look Tobin right in the eyes. "What?? NO! Tobin, that’s not what I was saying." The white around the brown was wide in shock and a growing apology. "That wasn’t — God, that really wasn’t good wording. I’m —" She took a deep breath. "I am _so_ ok with it, Tobin. I am so okay with … I’ve only ever wanted you to be _happy_. I was saying," the hand slipped away for just a moment as it slid an anxious path through her hair, "that I didn’t think it was _safe_ to bring up. To make more real in your life. If I made it more real, if I made you put a name to it…"

In a recent and newfound boldness, Tobin shuffled over in the grass until she was just close enough to lay her forehead against her sister’s shoulder, grass tickling at her ear and the side of her neck.

The gasp of gratitude was so worth it and Tobin wondered at how easy it had been to earn. How little it cost.

A hand stroking at her hair now — one she hadn’t had the opportunity to feel in years. "I knew you were struggling already, Tobin. You were so young and you carried so much weight. The weight of these monumental expectations. And the people who put that weight on you… this would not have played out well." She squeezed at her sister’s hand. "I thought maybe if you could just get to college, just get out from our roof, get out from this town… it would be something you could have safely. Have belong to you for yourself before someone tried to rip it away. …Honestly, I’d assumed that’s what’d _been_ happening. That you just hadn’t told us."

"…I wish it had worked out that way." Tobin’s lips were so close that they brushed Perry’s t-shirt. She wanted to hide in it. To just be a kid again with Perry slipping in under the covers after nighttime to whisper about their days.

"…How did it work out?"

_God, we’ve really never done this._

"Well, it’s been just about a decade since I left for college. And here we are."

"This is the first you’ve…"

"Yeah."

"Tobin…"

Tobin had once heard a sermon on forgiveness that stuck with her. He said that bitterness was like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.

She’d held firm to that view ever since.

She tugged out a bit of grass near her chin, then blew on it lightly till every blade had left her fingers.

The hand stayed heavy at her hair, thumb stroking the wisp down again and again.

"…It’s not your fault, Perry. There have been a lot of factors behind my hiding this. Behind the shame I felt. And, yes, you could have brought it up. Maybe that would have changed some things. But … sometimes it also just takes time. And maybe it wasn’t the right time until now. Who’s to say." She pushed a little more against the bicep. Appreciated the pressure of it against her forehead as her eyes slipped closed. "But we’re here and it’s good. I finally feel good. With God. With what I want. With _me._ "

"I’m so happy for you, Tobin." It was as soft as a whisper but warm enough to fill any lingering cracks of resentment in her heart.

Regret is a waste of breath.

Tobin leaned up suddenly, spinning into a cross-legged sit and Perry turned to match her, knees brushing.

"I feel ready. I feel ready to actually live, you know?"

"With this woman? Is she… is she good to you?"

Tobin sighed. _Ug._ "Honestly, we’re barely talking right now. She’s working through her own things, and I — well, I made some mistakes too. Said some things I should have — well, I meant them but I should have said it better."

"But is it what you want? Is she worth trying to fix things? Worth waiting for?"

Tobin couldn’t even help the little smile at her lips. Her chest wanted to equally curse it and curl up into it like a cabin during a storm.

Perry laughed, a look of honest pleasure, and Tobin laughed back. It felt good to step away from the hurt together. To share this. A shivery newness in Tobin to marvel at together.

"What’s her name?"

"…Christen."

Perry smirked. "God, you even say her name like it’s special. …’ _Christen’."_

Tobin shoved her shoulder, grinning a little pink. Then leaned back on her hands in the grass.

"She’s… she’s incredible, Perry. She’s someone worth knowing. We’ve been so distanced since we slept together… so _fake,_ and I hate it. I miss her so much."

"Ah, but what do you miss of her? Her body or her mind?" Christ, Perry’s wink was as bad as Christen’s — all blink and no finesse. It instantly warmed her.

She sniffed and lofted her nose. "If you really must know, I wouldn’t say no to either par—"

"—Tobin. Come inside."

_Huh?_

It was her mom, there at the back screen door, frown heavy on her face.

Tobin’s stomach dropped.

" _Tobin._ Right now. _"_

Perry’s eyes were wide, tracing the movement as Tobin slowly leaned up on her toes, inhaled, stood straight.

"Mom—"

"Inside."

Tobin approached at a crawl, sucked in her stomach as she creaked past her mother’s stiff form in the doorway.

She rounded the island in the kitchen just as Perry slipped through the shutting of the door.

_We’re doing this._

The oldest woman took a deep breath before turning, hands on her hips.

_I’m ready._

Right as she opened her mouth, Tobin got there first.

"Mom, I’m gay."

The jaw snapped shut.

Pushed forward and back in staggered little grinds.

"Tobi—"

"I think I always have been. I was just scared. Too scared to tell you. To say it. But recently…" she let her hands grasp the edge of the island — the solidity of it. "Well, I don’t want to be scared anymore. I want this to be part of my life. So I am." Her calves flexed like the start of a sprint. She made herself stand still. Strong. "…Saying it."

Her mom pinched the bridge of her nose.

_Please._

_Please._

"You can never say those words outside of this house, Tob—"

"But mom, you don’t un—"

"DON’T 'but mom' me." The snap of it made Tobin flinch and she cursed the instinct.

The fingers pinched again, forehead creasing into long lines of shadow before she released; took a deep breath. "This is going to hold you back, Tobin. There will be headlines that celebrate it because they’re supposed to but it _is_ going to hold you back. No one wants to sponsor the gay athlete. There are too many client bases it would turn off." Her shoulders lifted. Settled."It’s just economics."

_Are you—_

A droll chuckle escaped and Tobin could barely recognize it as her own voice. "Excuse me? Did you really just say … _economics_?"She shook her head. Braced her hands against the table in a heavy lean. "Mom, I’m not talking about my _job_. I’m talking about my _life_. I’m talking about the fact that I am finally admitting to myself that when I think about who I want to walk down an aisle to, who I want to have children with, who I want to share the rest of my life with…it’s a woman." Her mother’s nostrils flared and Tobin wanted to scream. "I have spent _years_ hating myself, desperate to please God because that’s what I thought He wanted. What you _told_ me He wanted. And now that I’m finally here telling you I’m gay," her head shook in amazement, fingers clenching the marble till her knuckles went white, "you don’t have anything to say about that at all? Just," her voice squeaked into an embarrassingly high octave, "… _economics?"_

The woman’s brow was lofted in a warning that flashed Tobin back to so many training sessions of _harder, faster, I know you can do better than that_. Some familiar part of her actually cried out for her to obey - to submit. She grabbed it calmly by the wrist and directed it to stand behind her.

"Oh, I have plenty I could say about that. And we can set up a meeting with Pastor Allen if you really want to go there. But I’m trying to save you from something you can’t take back, Tobin. Once you come out, you don’t see it right now, but you’ll have ruined everything you’ve worked for. All that time. So take my advice." Her gaze was certain. "Tuck this back wherever you’ve had it stored till now and _don’t_."

_I can’t believe this is about —_

_No._

_Don’t even fight that._

_That doesn’t even —_

_Take it back to where it matters._

"My whole life" — Tobin tried to soften her posture. Tried to make this as measured yet clear as possible— "you were my coach, my trainer, my critic." She inhaled, eyes vaguely picking up Perry frozen against the counters. The tick of the clock she’d always hated on the wall. The smooth slip of the marble. Everything amplified then fuzzed like the rolling of one large wave until all she could feel was her chest. "But you were never, _ever_ my mom." The pulse in her throat. "I’m not asking for your advice." The pressure in her ears. "I’m asking for you to _hear_ me."

She was floating in it. In the suspension of this moment.

"I was what you needed me to be to win, Tobin. Everything you have right now is because _I_ was willing to push you there. To make you the best."

Time sped up again and she felt it like a hammer to her breastbone. Almost doubled over with it.

"I didn’t want to be _the best_ , I wanted to be _loved."_

Tobin could feel her voice pitching higher and she hated it. Hated how childish she sounded. How affected.

"…And all you gave me was pressure. All you gave me was this crushing and pointless weight. Over something that’s supposed to be a _game."_ She could feel every crease in her forehead. "Did you know that until last month, I’ve only cried twice since I was 14 years old? Did you know I wanted to _die_ sometimes? That I cut myself for years _,_ mom _?_ And you didn’t _notice!"_

Perry was a granite statue at the counter to her left, frozen in the volley of words.

A snap fired from the opposite wall.

"Of course I did _._ "

Her mother’s tense mouth. That ruinous scattershot. You couldn’t escape.

Tobin’s ribcage dumped all its contents into her pelvis with a heady _whump_ and she gasped with the violence of it.

Her body couldn’t handle much more of this. This was two-a-days and pacer and flu in one.

"You…"

_What the actual fuck?_

"…you knew?!"

"You had blood stains in lines on your sheets. I found it in the wash." It was clipped. Halting. 

Tobin couldn’t even speak.

What did… what did one _say_ to that? 

"… _Mom_."

It was Perry. Jaw dropped like a flashbang had gone off in the next room.

Cindy didn’t even look at her. Just leveled a self-assured and somehow still beseeching gaze at her younger daughter. "It made you better, Tobin. You’d started to pull back. To lessen yourself to appease the other girls on the team. You were diminishing yourself." She lofted her hands palms up; surrendering, waiting for Tobin to place a treaty in them. Her terms for respect. "And then you weren’t. You found a way to handle the pressure. Handle the isolation of being great. You never took it too far, and it looked like it worked exactly how you needed it to. Your trainer agreed." The last shrug read like a plea. "…So who was I to take it away?"

The question hung in the air like smoke.

Filled up the player’s lungs like smoke.

Fogged the synapses of her mind like smoke.

Tobin’s lip was sucked between her teeth, eyes blank as she nodded in an interminable stare at the wall.

She returned; allowed herself to analyze that steady gaze. To truly search.

And to find it wanting.

"Well…" the slow nod continued in a steady click, that familiar metronome, a dullness permeating the easy expression on her face."Congratulations, coach. You did it. I’m the best."

Eyes slid sluggishly to her sister. "I’m going to get a hotel for the night. Would you mind bringing my things here to the airport in the morning? We can get coffee before I go."

Perry nodded slowly, eyes huge and apprehensive in a lingering shock.

Tobin turned once more to her mother.

"You did what you thought was right. It wasn’t loving. It certainly wasn’t Christian. But it was your best."

She walked to that same framed screen that had led her into this conversation.

Pivoted in one final benediction; "I’ll pray for you, mom. You’re missing out on so much."

And she walked out the door.

* * *

**10/23/16  
 **Friendly: USA v SUI (5-1)  
 **Minneapolis, MN  
 **Goals: Lloyd, Lloyd, Press, Dunn, Ohai** ******

"Oh my God, Tobin, you really did it!"

The girl wasn’t shouting in the locker room but she wasn’t whispering either. Strangely, Tobin didn’t look like she cared, just nodding gently, a little smile on her face.

"I did."

"How’d it go?"

The smile faded slightly but there was an impenetrable spirit underneath that maintained a glow in her skin and mouth despite the shadow in her eyes.

"I haven’t had the chance to tell Katie or Jeff yet. But Perry was… she was _wonderful_ , Mal. Knew already, honestly. And we’re going to start getting together more regularly which we should have started years ago but… I’m really happy about it. Happy to have her back in my life in a significant way. "

Mal reached out to lock fingers gently, Tobin rubbing over the girl’s knuckles with her thumb.

 _Since when did Tobin casually touch people?_

"…And your folks?"

Tobin’s head gave a tentative nod, then a shake.

The girl slipped a kiss to the older woman’s cheek, then laid her head on her shoulder.

"I’m sorry, Toby."

"Me too. There’s a lot more there we need to work through. But I’m glad I did it anyways. I’m… I’m happy, Mal. I’m honestly happy."

Those same french braids Christen had tied herself an hour ago nudged fondly against a bicep. A soft murmur she could pick up more from the shape of her lips than the sound: "Who you are is beautiful, Tobin. And I’m proud of you."

_Had Tobin really…? That was incredible! She should go tell her that was incredible, right? Would that be weird?_

Someone caught her wrist and started pulling her backwards.

"Hey!"

"Nuh uh. No ma’am. You left that girl in a garbage heap, and she is only just starting to crawl her way out again." The blonde’s face was ice.

"What are you talking about, Allie? Tobin and I are fine."

"If you actually believe that, Stanford should ask for its diploma back."

Green eyes slanted. "I apologized and she received it."

"No, you had a 5 minute conversation after ignoring her for an entire game, decided to write off everything between you for your own benefit, and then congratulated her on one of the biggest regrets of her life.If you knew her at all, if you _saw_ her at all, you should have known the damage that would do."

Christen’s stomach flipped completely upside down.

_That one hurt._

_But this was the way it needed to be._

Allie sighed. "Look, Christen. I like you. You know I do. But you have a _lot_ of self-searching to do before you can just walk up to that girl all devil-may-care." She glanced over her shoulder — lowered her voice. "… I’m not saying you have to want to be with her. I would never hold that over someone. But you at least owe her a real apology, and an offer at a little space. Ok?"Blue traveled Christen’s face, brows furrowing just slightly; reading. "Tobin told me that you said this once, and it meant something to her. So I hope you can receive it back. …Be a better friend, Christen."

Green was locked on the woman softly smiling at Mal, looking, frankly, sad. But somehow, strangely, even more beautiful for the openness of it on her face.

"Christen."

She swallowed hard.

"Yeah, ok."

Allie turned to go but pulled back for one last look, mouth twisting in a strange sort of sympathy.

"And Press?"

She pulled away from the scene to meet those piercing eyes once more.

"I say this as someone who wants to be your friend. …Maybe you should think about why Tobin is able to smile over there and laugh even as she’s working through her junk. Like, some genuine shit. And you… you act like you’re fine, but I don’t think I’ve seen you smile one genuine time in months. Not when she’s in the room." So so blue. "Do yourself a favor, Chris. Deal with whatever made this happen. And I’m not talking about missing a shot in Rio. Just … handle your junk, ok?"

Then she walked back over to the sitting duo like nothing ever happened.

_"Well, I think this calls for celebration! I don’t think we can swing ice cream, but what about a fro-yo run after the game? On me."_

_Mal smiled slyly. "Is transportation on you too? I’m ready to learn how to hotwire a car from the best."_

_"Ha. Ha. Good guess, but no cigar. I still won’t tell you how I got it."_

_"Allieeeeee!"_

Across the room, Christen watched. 

* * *

They won.

They won by 4 points.

She had scored.

But when the game ended, all she could do was toss a couple of waves to the fans gathered in hopes for a signature, walk straight back into the locker room, and pull up Kayak on her phone.

Sometimes a girl needs her mom.

It was time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley: This doesn’t have to be a big deal. Whoever ate my last donut, just come forward and all will be forgiven.  
> Alex:  
> Lindsey:  
> Sam:  
> Mal:  
> Kelley: Smart. You knew I’d never forgive you
> 
> Have y'all forgiven me for the last chapter yet? Hold strong - both women are on their way to a stronger personal identity/understanding. And from there, healing will come.
> 
> Leave a comment: How do you see Tobin changing/growing? What outside character stuck out to you the most?


	9. Mallory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl’s cheek hollowed as the inside was tucked between her teeth — chewing and anxious. Released.
> 
> "You can’t just fix me, Christen. Can’t just fix all my problems. Some are too big. And they’re mine to fix anyways."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley:  
> Becky:  
> Becky:  
> Becky:  
> Kelley: But, like, someone made up dinosaur sounds without ever hearing them.  
> Becky: *sighs*
> 
> Y'all. This is a behemoth. But it's all Mal, so... you're welcome?
> 
> Also, I literally have no self control. I'm not even posting this because y'all pressured me to. It is only because I am SO FREAKING EXCITED TO SHARE THIS CHAPTER WITH YOU.

**1/05/16  
Carson, California  
1st day of USWNT Training Camp for CONCACAF Olympic Qualifying Tournament**

"Oh, Christen, there you are. Just the woman I wanted." A beautiful caramel-skinned woman turned around and Mal flushed instantly.

OH. MY. GOD.

This was _Christen Press._ All time leading goal-scorer for Stanford. 2010 Hermann trophy winner. 2011 WPS rookie of the year. Went to Sweden to play and, true to form, became the leading goal-scorer for the entire _league_ in a year. The fact that she’d only made the national team in 2012, and even then as an alternate was practically criminal! And when she _finally_ got her first cap in 2013 she’d scored _two_ goals and —

"Christen, this is Mallory Pugh."

That perfect face cracked into a beaming smile, made even more perfect somehow for the slight slant of her teeth. "Oh, I’ve heard about you!"

_What!?_

"They say you’re the best of the next generation. I’ve been waiting for the day you’d be joining us!" She laughed lightly. "Though, I’ll admit, this is even earlier than I expected."

It was quite possible that her cheeks would never return to their natural color again. "Wow. It’s — It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve admired your play for… like, ever. Your goal in the Algarve Cup against France? That 40-yard run?" She just shook her head, eyes wide.

The woman just laughed, eyes warm in amusement. "You’ll have your own soon enough, I’m sure."

Green eyes slid to the woman next to Jill. She was larger, black. Kind looking, but tired faced. "Hi, I’m Christen, you must be—"

"My aunt!" Mallory cut in, face strangely flustered as it looked up to the unknown woman and Christen tilted her head at it. "This is my … aunt."

The woman seemed unperturbed. "Diane Washington. Nice to meet you." The shake was warm but efficient.

Jill eyed Mal briefly. Turned. "Mrs. Washington will be joining us at all camps to supervise Mallory until she turns 18. Part of the rules for minors under U.S. Soccer."

"Well, welcome. And let me know if there’s ever anything you need, or you even just want to come and hang out with some of us ladies on the team. Family is family, and we want everyone to feel at home."

"Thank you, that’s kind. I’ll mostly be working remotely, but we’ll see if the opportunity arises." She said it in a way that made you know she was grateful but also pretty damn certain she didn’t plan on taking you up on it. It was a practiced neutrality and Christen wondered what sort of job she had.

"So, Christen, I thought you could take Mallory around and introduce her to some ladies before things got too busy. Walk her through the schedule, locations, that sort of thing."

Mal wondered if rooms actually physically warmed purely by having a smiling Christen Press in them."I’d love to. Mallory, you wanna come" she hitched a thumb over her shoulder.

Glancing back briefly, Mrs. Washington went a bit softer in the eyes at the girl. Squeezed her shoulder. "It’s ok, Mal. I’ll get the bags to your room. Mine’s adjoining. You’re good to go."

Bubbling, she spun and trotted as the taller forward guided them further into the hotel.

"Mal, huh? Can I call you that too?"

13 year old Mallory would have died.

"Yeah. You can call me Mal."

* * *

"Is that TOBIN HEATH?!"

Christen chuckled, linking her arm through the girl’s. "The one and only. Come on, I’ll introduce you."

* * *

**1/20/16  
Carson, California  
Last day of USWNT Training Camp for CONCACAF Olympic Qualifying Tournament**

She wanted to stay up. She really did. Mrs. Washington had said that as long as she came back afterward she could hang with the other players till the hangout was done!

But it’d been such a long day.

_I’ll just give myself a minute._

Mal let herself fall sideways, eyes glancing up briefly for permission before slipping her head into Christen’s lap.

The voices around her seemed to fade.

As a gentle hand soothed into her hair she let her eyes, just for one moment, slip shut.

* * *

**1/23/16  
San Diego, California  
Friendly: USA v Ireland (5-0)  
Goals: Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd, Morgan, Pugh  
Note: Pugh scores her first USWNT Goal becoming the 19th US player to score in her debut**

Her first cap.

She’d even bought Brianna a ticket. Her sister giddy and anxious in the crowd.

… Mom and Dad would have loved this.

Suddenly, a ball slipped through her legs and Mal startled up.

Tobin winked, already paces away.

Right. Warm-ups.

This was the moment she had been working for.

She wasn’t going to let it slip away.

* * *

"Is she... Is she gonna be ok?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine, Mallory. It's ok. Just an injury. It's ok."

She wished Tobin looked more sure of that. 

* * *

**2/10/16  
Frisco, TX  
CONCACAF Group Stage: US v Costa Rica (5-0)  
Goals: Morgan, Lloyd, Dunn, Morgan, Press**

Christen scored a goal that game.

It was a thing of beauty, honestly.

Beside her, Mal could hear Tobin audibly gasp — the cut, the fake-out, the smallest window that Christen still somehow managed to slot the ball through, arcing it into the back left corner.

Even when the game moved on, she could spy the small smile that lingered on Tobin’s face.

Awed.

* * *

**2/13/16  
Frisco, TX  
CONCACAF Group Stage: US v Mexico (1-0)  
Goals: Lloyd**

Watching them, Mal could only giggle. This entire team was filled with goofs.

When Allie walked away, Mal let herself slide a little closer to Becky.

"So… what’s your favorite book?"

* * *

**2/14/16  
Frisco, Texas  
Day between CONCACAF games 2&3**

"There’s been an emergency at the office. Something with another of my cases." Her eyes were worried. Sad. It made Mallory’s stomach twist, wondering if it was someone she knew. "I need time in the business lounge to go deal with it but I heard from the team therapist you had a rough day. Something about a panic attack in the locker room?" She eyed her; stern but yielding in it towards the end.

Mal swallowed, letting her hair slip down to cover her eyes. She hated how this was part of things. How they all got to talk about her. Around her.

"You know I can’t leave you alone after that. So I need you to choose someone to stay with you here. Is there a friend you’ve made? A captain of the team, maybe? An aide?"

A head lifted. "Christen. Christen Press. I’d like her please."

"You have her number?"

A nod.

"Would you text and ask if she’d be willing to stay the night? If she can stay I’ll just go straight back to mine when I finish so I don’t have to wake you before the game tomorrow — and you can always reach me through the connecting door once I’m back if you need to. Ok?"

_Why couldn’t you just keep it together?_

_You’re just a kid to her. There are people she actually wants to be with._

_I don’t know who else to ask._

_"_ Mallory." 

"…Ok."

* * *

Christen had been so understanding - so quick to agree. Even when Mrs. Washington pulled her into the hall, Mallory’s ear cocked at the crack of a door ("…can’t say why. But she isn’t to be left alone. Ok? Can you promise that?" Silence; maybe a nod. "Yeah, I’m happy to help." More silence. Something mumbled that she missed. Then, "…be fine. It’ll be a girl’s night.")

Christen came back in smiling. Gentle.

She dropped a small overnight bag on the floor. "Movie?"

Mal’s lungs unclenched a bit. "Yeah." Dimpled. "Yeah, that’d be great."

Most of an hour later they were both lounging on the still-made beds, Christen having snuck in a bag of microwave "only salt added!" popcorn (" _Sorry, we really probably shouldn’t have soda." Mal beaming anyway. "Water is totally fine.")_ and Pitch Perfect playing on the TV. They’d been giggling about Kelley’s accidental backwards somersault at practice, and comparing notes on the best YouTube make-up channels, and debating whether Jesse, Tom, or Luke were cuter but wait maybe it was Unicycle because where are all the cute POC men thank you very much, like, let’s make that happen Hollywood and it was fun and it was silly and it was just like Mallory imagined high school sleepovers were supposed to be and it felt —

It felt _safe_.

It felt safe enough to take a chance.

"You know… she’s not actually my aunt."

A head quirked her way, Chloe talking to Beca at aca-initiation night somewhere in the background. "What?"

"Mrs. Washington. She’s not my aunt. She’s a guardian from the state. I’m in the foster system in Colorado."

"Mal," Christen gasped in a tiny inhale, swinging around to sit cross-legged facing the girl on the other bed. "… I had no idea."

"Yeah…"

"I’m so sorry."

She swallowed. "It’s ok. Or not ok, you know, but… it’s been three years now almost. It’s my normal at this point."

"What…" a twisting mouth, trying to discern what was appropriate, "what happened?"

"Car crash. It was their anniversary — coming back from a restaurant. My sister and I were at home."

"Is she older? Younger?"

"Older by some. We were more like friends."

A flash of worry. "Were?"

 _Oh. Wording._ "Sorry, 'are'. She’s fine. Just… far away. College."

"…That must be lonely."

Mal just shrugged. Picked at the popcorn a bit.

"Yeah, it’s just us. I found out at the will reading that we were supposed to go with my grandma — my dad’s mom — if something happened. Only, they hadn’t updated the will since she died. That was like, 8 month before, maybe? And my mom’s side… well, we hadn’t heard from them in years. Not everyone is cool with a white woman and black man getting married still, …" she shoved a handful in her mouth, "complete shit" muffled and crunching.

Christen couldn’t even find it in herself to correct the teen’s language. Sometimes curses are made for moments like these.

"But your sister. Why won’t she take you in?"

"She’s just two years older than me and working her way through CSU. Lives with her boyfriend and his two friends. One is already on the couch. I couldn’t fit if I tried. And that’s saying something," she gestured a little self-deprecating down all 5’4’’ of her, trying to bring even a hint of humor to cut the heaviness. It mostly failed.

She sighed. "…But really, everyone always assumes the older sibling will do it. That they should. But Chris," a hand in her hair, "she was my age when this happened. Just months short of 18 and — I … I don’t know if _I_ could do it, you know? And I didn’t want to make her. Who’s to say that wouldn’t be worse? Two teenagers with no degrees and no job experience trying to figure it all out at once? No." She folded her legs — messed with her socks some. "…We knew I’d turn 18 in three years. So we talked and decided together that I would stick it out. Older kids don’t get placed normally anyway so I’d be at the home. I wouldn’t have to worry about the families that…" — she hid the shudder pretty well with a reach into the popcorn bag but Christen could spy it anyway; wondered at the things this girl had heard, seen written on children’s faces maybe — "ruin so many kids lives, you know? If I could just handle it — like a dorm, for a few years, right?… It’d be fine."

"Mal…"

The girl kept going, fingers messing with the hem of her shorts now. "And she made sacrifices too. Our parents left some money. Nothing crazy, but enough to help. She didn’t take any of it. Put it in an account for me with her as the trust or whatever that is. And she’s used it to pay for every camp, every tournament, everything I needed to make it here. All while she’s been working in retail." Brown eyes finally looked up. "Christen, since January… I make _more_ than her now. Like… I’m not under contract yet but that’s still $3000 per game! If this team gives me a full contract _and_ I join the league next year? That could be _six_ figures! Can you believe it?! Then maybe…" her cheeks flushed, almost shy, "maybe we can make it together you know? I’ll have to live wherever I get signed, and she’s gotta finish school. But maybe then I can help her like she helped me. We’re in it together. I know it doesn’t look like it. But we are."

Christen hummed softly, shuffling forward until her legs hung off the bed. Closer. "I’m sorry, Mal. I didn’t mean to say you weren’t. I shouldn’t have assumed."

"It’s ok. It’s a tough situation. I get that it’s … well it sucks that that was what was needed. But we looked at where we were, what was actually possible, and we just … did the best we could with it."

"And?"

Another glance. Curious now. "And what?"

"Are you doing ok with it?" Hands laying forcibly casual and unclenched at her sides. Safe. "Is it… is it working, I guess?"

Mal laughed a little darkly; pulled out a burnt kernel and turned it in her fingers. Dropped it back in the bag. "I mean, the system is the system. There is a lot that isn’t … optimal. But I … I’ve found ways to make it. Good _and_ bad, I guess. But I’m making it. And in two months I’ll be gone."

Christen knew the last statement was an out. A way to ask about the future instead and move to nicer topics.

A really bad a cappella set droned in the background.

She wouldn’t take it. "… Bad ways?"

The girl bit her lip, eyes a heartbreaking meld of yearning and scared.

"Mal…" An invitation. A comfort.

It suddenly tripped from the girl’s mouth like a colt from a gate — all feet and tempo. "I cut sometimes."

The moment it was out her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide as the other hand clenched around the ruined popcorn bag, tucking it against her middle like a wall.

Soft was the play. "Mal… baby…."

Brown eyes welled.

"Can you come here? Will you… will you sit next to me?"

Setting aside the bag, the girl crept over. First on her knees, then standing when she hit the edge; teeth worrying at the inside of her mouth. Christen grasped her wrist when she was close enough, guiding her the last few hesitant steps till she folded against her side, the mattress dipping at their shared weight. Chris slipped an arm around her and Mal sank further into the warmth of her body. "Does anyone know, sweetie?"

A nod she felt through her shoulder. "Yeah… another kid told on me a few months ago. I had to start going to a state therapist. And they were legally required to inform U.S. Soccer for me to be here… Mrs. Washington would have to be here anyway, but … she watches closer than they normally have to."

Christen rubbed the girl’s arm, tucking her closer. "I’m sure that was really scary, to suddenly have these adults know. To have someone expose that for you." Squeezed. "But baby, it’s a good thing to have help."

A sniff. "I know."

"Is it… are you — I don’t know how to talk about it, Mal, I’m sorry. Please tell me if I’m doing it wrong. But… are you ok? Do you —"

"It only happens when I’m really stressed. Or lonely."

_Yikes._

"Baby, this job is one of the most high pressure environments in America."

A watery chuckle. "But it’s soccer, at least. That helps."

Well, Christen understood that. They all did. "At least it’s soccer." Chuckled."…The world is better with a ball at your feet, yeah?" 

Another shuffle of a head against her shoulder. Christen turned further into Mallory, slipping her arms around her back.

"May I… can I ask you about it? If things look tough. Can I check on you?"

A nose dug into her armpit a little and Christen wanted to both chuckle and cry. She was so young. Such a little girl still. A pang in her ached for her own mother and Christen pressed a kiss against the girl’s hair. Stacy would fold this little one in her arms until everything was warm and the whole world felt like Christmas.

" _Mhm._ "

Rubbed her back. "Maybe in words, baby?"

The face-in-hiding emerged just slightly, chin dipping from the seam of arm and chest. "I think I’d like that."

"Ok, sweetheart. I can do that."

Another tiny kiss.

"I can do that for you."

* * *

**2/15/16  
Frisco, TX  
CONCACAFGroup Stage: US v Puerto Rico (10-0)  
Goals: Dunn, Lloyd, Dunn, O’Hara, Own Goal, Dunn, Press, Dunn, Dunn, Mewis  
Note: Pugh’s First Start**

Christen had been right. She knew how to do this. She knew how to focus.

Whenever it seemed to drift, she just pulled back into herself again — that well of grit that had taken her this far.

And when her rocket of a kick glanced off a defender ending in an Own Goal, Mallory grinned like she’d gotten the point anyway.

She belonged here.

She would say it until she believed it.

And today? Well, that wasn’t so hard.

* * *

**2/19/19  
Houston, TX  
CONCACAF Semifinal: US v Trinidad and Tobago (5-0)  
Goals: Heath, Morgan, Lloyd, Morgan, Morgan**

Lindsey invited her to her and Sam’s room after the game.

They ate pretzels and tried to catch M&Ms in their mouths and Mallory thought she hadn’t laughed so hard in months.

* * *

**2/21/16  
Houston, TX  
CONCACAF Final: US v Canada (2-0)  
Goals: Horan, Heath**

Flying home to Colorado after the CONCACAF celebrations should have felt like sinking into a warm bath after a long day.

Instead, Mallory just lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering at the years she had spent in this twin bed, the breaths of 5 other girls filling the shadowy veil of the waning gibbous moonlight.

She’d never loved it.

But the impending date of aging out still hung like a scythe in her dreams.

The tick of time.

Her birthday turned guillotine.

She’d never loved this room.

But what if being on her own was worse?

* * *

**3/3/16  
Tampa, Florida  
She Believes Cup, Game #1  
US v England (1-0)  
Goals: Dunn**

It was good to be back.

She even got to have a roommate this time. Lindsey was assigned Hope who Mallory had once literally heard snoring through the wall at CONCACAF. When they pouted at Mrs. Washington the woman agreed to let the blonde take Mal’s extra bed. And this way, Carli could hang with Solo uninterrupted for their late night "chats".

They giggled about it; then spent the night trading observations and laughs and dreams like Halloween candy.

It was good to be back.

The clock in the back of her mind ticked slower here.

Less menacing.

Less loud.

It was good to be back.

…But still it ticked.

* * *

**3/6/16  
Nashville,Tennessee  
She Believes Cup, Game #2  
US v France (1-0)  
Goals: Morgan**

_Oh GOD, she had seen she had seen she had seen._

_And not just anybody._

_Tobin Heath._

She keened.

"Mal, it’s gonna be ok. _It’s ok_. Let’s get back to the hotel and talk about this. You don’t have to worry about Tobin. It’s ok."

The inability to breathe. The humidity of the showers only adding.

"Mal, you’re ok. I threw away the razor. Tobin isn’t here anymore. I’ll talk to her and clear this up later. Let’s just… let’s just get back, ok? We can figure it out there."

Clothes pulled on while her body was still damp.

Hair dripping into her collar on the bus.

When she got off, Christen wasn’t behind her anymore. Was nowhere to be seen.

_Time is ticking._

_And you can’t make it here anyway._

_You don’t belong here._

Lindsey dropping her things to the ground, and Mal watched. She was so tall; so easy; so unbothered. Just a Coloradan girl who loved soccer and hadn’t watched her life crash and burn. Like who Mal could have been, if —

"Wanna get out MarioKart?"

"My stomach’s kind of upset actually. Mind if I just hide in the bathroom for a bit?"

"Aw," a frown, "that sucks, dude. Yeah, totally, take your time."

_Tick._

_Tick._

Slice.

* * *

"…Like, you know it’s not supposed to, but it does and it works in some twisted way. It works because you don’t have anything better. Because no one has taught you or helped you figure out what you’re actually supposed to do. So you find this… thing. This thing that takes all your thoughts that you can’t figure out, or are too big to handle - and it turns them into something so small. Something you can take care of after and watch heal."

_What?_

"Yeah… that’s what it’s like."

_Exactly like._

Tobin’s hands flexed and released against the edge of the bed.

"But, Mal. There really are better ways. Ways that don’t have to hurt you more." Her heels dug into the carpet, twisting. "Can I tell you something?"

Mal felt her back tense in the weight of it.

"You do not need to feel ashamed of this."

_Wasn’t expecting that._

"You’re not broken. This isn’t something to be embarrassed about, or guilty for. You were, you _are_ a child in so many ways. And children aren’t to be blamed for the ways they’ve figured out to survive."

Somewhere, something in Mal starts to loosen — like rocks dug from a field after millennia.

Like it was leaving room for roots to grow.

* * *

Later, while they’re watching Sound of Music and Tobin is laughing at Christen as she rewrites the words to "My Favorite Things," rapping right over Julie Andrews like the woman was out of style anyway, Mal tips her head to look at the midfielder.

This woman: white, from New Jersey, college grad and World Cup winner, still having both her parents, with power over her life.

This woman was so different from her.

But they shared something. Something that meant they shared more in common probably than Mal gave her credit for.

This woman knew what it was like to sit on a bathroom floor, certain that the whole world was spinning and it would just go faster and faster and more and more brutal until you were flung into pieces against the timeline - a shattered and bleeding mess.

She knew what it was like to want to take that rush and spin and make it smaller and smaller, folding it up until it was as thin and as sharp as a blade, and cut it into yourself like maybe that blood offering could tame the storm just for a time.

She knew what it was like to clean and cover it later, watching it heal, hoping it was a symbol of what was about to happen to the chaos around you. Just… healing until only a thin line remained on the surface of your life — so tiny you could miss it if you tilted your head in the right light.

And she had left it behind.

She had actually beat it.

Found something else.

Found… surfing? Painting? Those seemed so impossibly small — so powerless. But if they’d worked for Tobin… maybe there was more power in those little daily loves than Mal had thought.

Maybe she could take up… cooking? Blogging?

She chuckled lightly, head snuggling into the pillow again as her eyes traced Tobin’s radiant face currently laughing so hard it sounded like she was having trouble breathing. Christen’s eyes were closed, a self-satisfied look on her upturned face as she danced from the torso up, her ad-libbed lyrics now a fully choreographed refrain.

Maybe she’d find her thing.

If Tobin could do it, she could, right?

A seed of peace was planted somewhere near the shadows of her heart.

Only time could tell. 

* * *

**3/9/16  
Boca Raton, Florida  
She Believes Cup, Game #3  
US v Germany (2-1)  
Goals: Morgan, Mewis**

Being 17 sucks.

* * *

**4/6/16  
East Hartford, CT  
Friendly: US v Colombia (7-0)  
Goals: Dunn, Long, Long, Pugh, Lloyd, Heath, Press**

"Lindsey, want to grab dinner after the game with me?"

"Sure! Uh… is there — is there a specific reason?" A strange search in the peer of her eyes.

"Chris and I never did explain what was going on … last month. I thought… I thought maybe you’d want to hear?"

A shift in the searching, but it felt just as safe.

"I’d love that, Mal."

* * *

**4/10/16  
Chester, PA  
Friendly: US v Colombia (3-0)  
Goals: Press, Johnston, Johnston  
Note: Pugh plays her first 90**

_Dammit._

Mal sunk in the seat next to Morgan, scowling at her plate.

"Dude."

It was Sam across from her, Lindsey’s curious blues beside.

"Tough morning?"

"No, I just —"

A kiss to the top of her head and a chocolate donut tipped onto her plate like an offering from an angel.

"Grabbed the last one when I saw you were running late."

 _YES._ An instant grin.

 _"_ Thanks, mom."

Her eyes slammed shut instantly.

_… OH._

An obvious silence.

_…MY._

A snort across the table.

_…GOD._

"Did you just call Press ' _MOM'??"_

A tumbling of snickers around her as Mal’s elbows slid her tray forward in order to facilitate the necessary meeting of her forehead to the table. 

"Oh God, kill me now."

That angelic laugh pealing as clear as bells behind her. A hand scratching lightly in her hair.

"It’s ok, baby. I’m honored."

Mal just groaned, the cacophony of giggles only increasing.

"Bye, mom!!!" Sam’s long fingers wiggling as Christen walked away.

Kelley slid in on Morgan’s other side.

"What did I miss?"

Sam’s eyes lit up — "DUDE. Kell, Mal just —"

She shoved the donut in her mouth, Morgan’s shoulder jostling into hers as the girls giggled all over again.

_Jesus Christ._

But as everyone laughed and ate and began to tell their own stories of childhood misspoken words and woe, well… honestly, it felt a little like belonging.

* * *

It was a silly moment. A silly mistake.

They were right to all laugh about it.

And Christen’s response to it made Mal feel warm from the inside out. Made her ache for someone who noticed when she was running late. Ache for that hand in her hair again. 

But still, the longer the day went on, the more agitated that caged part of her got — louder and louder until even from the deepest dungeon of her mind, it arose like an echo and a whisper.

"That’s the first time you’ve said 'mom' in three years."

And like a wasp, it stung.

_Tick._

* * *

**4/29/16  
Denver, CO**

They threw her a party.

Really, it was incredibly nice. Cake with a big 18 written on it and balloons and a time for teens around the room to share things they liked about her, favorite memories, funny stories. Mrs. Washington showed up even though that wasn’t in her job description, a wrapped copy of "Their Eyes Were Watching God" slipped into Mal’s smaller fingers when she hugged her goodbye.

Then Mr. Schwartz took the van over to her apartment so that Jamie, Crystal, Gracia, and Temi could come too.

There, he paid for all of them to have a pizza delivered, laughing and yelling as they lounged on the couch she’d bought from the Habitat Store on a preparation outing just last week.

It was raucous, and fun, and so so warm. These girls she’d come to know so well. This man who’d been a somewhat aloof but trustworthy presence there in the background.

It was a good day.

But still, that night, alone in her apartment — _her_ apartment — for the first time … the rumble of voices from the lower courtyard, the yellow streetlamp glare glowing in through the window, the hum of an old radiator…

She’d never been so scared in her life.

* * *

**6/1/16  
Commerce City, Colorado**

They were 25 minutes away from her apartment.

Just 25 minutes from an entirely different world.

No one even knew.

She had paid to take an Uber just so no one could see her get off the East Brighton Line and ponder why she knew the public transportation here so well.

It was… It was strange. Like there were two Mals folded into one body and she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that. Does hiding one mean you’re ashamed?

She didn’t know the answer to that yet, but one thing was for sure. Being here with everyone made her skin itch.

Therapy was gonna suck today.

"Hey. Do you think something is going on between Tobin and Christen?"

She was pulled out of her musing by the tall blonde nudging her with a knee.

"Huh?"

Sam gestured her chin across the room where Tobin and Chris were seated, the white woman’s face blushing as the other laughed about something, then mocked swiping her hair back and slinging on a hat, slumping in her seat with her legs spread wide. Tobin rolled her eyes and Christen laughed even harder.

"Going on?"

"Yeah, you know … you’re with them a lot so you’ve probably seen. So, like, is something developing there?"

Mal looked with new eyes.

_Hm._

I mean… she hadn’t tried to but … maybe?

"Couldn’t tell ya."

* * *

Ok, therapy was maybe possibly actually kind of good. Kathryn had actually helped her figure things out a little bit. It still felt strange to be here. She still felt like she was on edge. She still felt like there were two of her. But… well, she also felt like even if she was hiding stuff from other people,

> _"Not hiding, Mallory. You’re being selective about who to share with."_
> 
> _"Isn’t that the same thing?"_
> 
> _"No, actually. Never telling anyone — that’s hiding. Waiting until you have someone trustworthy to tell? That’s just wisdom. You’re a girl who has lost her family, Mal. It’s a horrible thing losing the people you trust the most — the people who were your safe place. And then you lived in a place of relative anonymity where all your secrets got shared for you whether you wanted them to or not. Are you really surprised that you’re hesitant to reveal the struggles you’ve been experiencing?_
> 
> _"Well, no, when you put it that way I guess not."_
> 
> _"I don’t want you to be afraid anymore. You’re not some walled person, Mallory. You’re not broken or untrusting or jaded. You’re just… waiting."_
> 
> _"Waiting for what?"_
> 
> _"For the people worth_ choosing _to be your family."_

she wasn’t hiding from _herself._ She was learning who she was and what sort of person she wanted to be. And what sort of people she wanted to be a part of that. And that counted for something, right? She was honestly sort of proud.

So that night she let herself embrace the lesson. She abandoned a sleeping Whitney, tried not to think about her real bed just one bus loop away, and went to the room of two people who made her think maybe she did actually want to be known.

Christen Press didn’t even know she was running the race, but other than Brianna who would always win by default, Chris was in first place for love in Mal’s heart. It scared her a little how quickly it had happened, honestly. And it wasn’t even just about the life of a foster — though the constant arrival and exit of faces would give anyone a bit of pause on trying to make a friend. The reality was that the national team was just as transient. You never knew when someone would lose a spot, or a new face would arrive, or an injury would take the last person you expected. It wasn’t stable. There was nothing that said this had to be stable.

But Christen was winning the race all the same. And while Mal still wasn’t quite ready to be both the her on the team and the her 25 minutes away … well, she wanted to be near the woman anyway.

And Tobin. Tobin was more of a mystery. Christen wore her affection on her sleeve; all head kisses and nicknames and grins. Tobin was quieter with it. She rarely touched anyone — Mal had seen. And she’d never heard a pet name out of her mouth other than literally that _one_ time and nobody wanted to think about that day so it didn’t even count. But even so, Tobin was… safe?

Ok, it was like this. If the two women were rooms in a house, Christen would be the living room — all "I’m so glad you’re here!" and "can I get you a drink of water?" and "wanna play a round of Scrabble?". She was couches that made you want to stay for awhile, and laugh, and forget about the stress of the day. 

But Tobin was the window-seat in the study. That was a place you could hide away. A place to maybe be a little sad if you wanted to, or read quietly and listen to the birds outside. A place to have an important conversation with someone you loved. It was harder to find but once you knew about it… it was a spot that quickly found a special place in your heart.

And Mal thought, one day, when she had a home the wasn’t just 700 square feet, she would choose something with both those places.

But we were talking about women.

Such different women, but so complementary. Like each of them might bring out a different part of Mallory if she let them.

And suddenly, in the midst of some 5 second interchange on yoga —she got it. She got what Sam was talking about. She got why these two women made sense together. They didn’t just complement each other — they _completed_ something in each other.

She didn’t know how she had missed it before.

Christen in Tobin’s sweatshirt, nose ducking in the collar like the smell alone was what made her feel wrapped and warm. Tobin teasing her so easily — more familiar than she’d ever been in any locker room — like Christen’s presence brought out the play in her. And then, even once the lights were out, Christen had spoken through the darkness expectantly. Inclusively. Like she knew Tobin would be listening even as she whispered. Like this was something they’d done a thousand nights before.

She didn’t know if Sam was right and it was shifting into something more.

But she sort of hoped it was.

Anyway, it was late. It was late and tomorrow she’d play in a stadium she couldn’t even afford to _enter_ 6 months ago, even though it was just down the street. It was late and it wasn’t the time for thinking about things you didn’t know. What she _did_ know was that, if nothing else, this bed felt safe. These women and this bed felt safe.

She wasn’t 25 minutes away.

She was here.

So she snuggled into the pillow, Christen’s breath a quiet tide behind her, and dove with surprising ease into sleep.

* * *

**6/2/16  
Commerce City, Colorado  
Friendly: US v Japan (3-3)  
Goals: Morgan, Morgan, Horan**

Ok, maybe she had mixed feelings about the state of Colorado.

But it was still hers. She had good memories here too.

This was her state and they knew her name. Were cheering for her.

Little girls had her last name scrawled across the back of their shirts.

Her father’s last name.

Maybe there was still room for some new good memories.

Because it looked good.

* * *

**6/5/16  
Cleveland, Ohio  
Friendly: US v Japan (2-0)  
Goals: Johnston, Morgan**

A ruined mountain of takeout containers lay open and dripping on the table.

One Miss Kelley O’Hara lay supine and groaning in Alex’s lap on the couch.

Mal giggled from her spot on the opposite couch, curled up against the arm so Morgan, Lindsey, and Kling could all squeeze in too.

"Ate too much."

"Well, yeah. You hit that point like… 30 minutes ago, Kell."

"Ug, so goooood."

Sluggishly, her blues flashed to the swing of a door.

"Wait, was that Chris? She just left, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

The freckled lump swung with new energy into a seated position.

"ATTENTION. REPORT."

_What the heck?_

The remaining crowd in the room spun from various conversations. Some confused, but several grinning.

"Confirmed. Those were indeed Tobin’s shorts that Christen wore to breakfast," from Kling.

"And Tobin actually _skipped coffee_ just because Christen said she left her phone in her room. Went back to get it for her instead." Crystal this time.

Kelley nodded. "Good. Allie?"

The blonde perched suddenly next to Mal and she squeaked.

"Timer on my phone confirms it. Christen kept her hand somewhere on Tobin for FIFTEEN minutes at the film session. That’s a 4 minute increase from last time."

Several _ooooh_ ’s intensified the buzzing energy of the lunch-turned-war room.

"Alex, you time the next one so we don’t raise suspicion. Colonel Harris? Pet names?"

"Still none from Tobin but we’ve got a record of at least 8 separate occurrences from Press."

_This is so extra._

_…I kind of love it._

"Good. Good job, ladies. Operation Crobin is well under way."

_Wait._

Mal’s forehead wrinkled.

"Crobin?"

Kelley rubbed her belly. "Yeah, duh. Christen plus Tobin. Crobin."

"That’s lame. It sounds like something you find in medical waste at Grey-Sloan."

Allie chuckled next to her and Mal felt emboldened.

"Well, you got anything better, kid?"

Mal tapped a finger against her chin like Christen always did.

Hummed for a long and teasing moment.

"Yeah…"

Grinned.

"Preath."

* * *

**7/9/16  
Chicago, Illinois  
Friendly: US v South Africa (1-0)  
Goals: Dunn**

She slipped her tray next to the blonde’s.

"Hey, I saved you this."

A chocolate donut slid her way.

_Huh._

Mal cocked her head. "…Thanks, Linds. That was really sweet."

The sun-darkened tan of her cheeks flushed. "You’re welcome. … So how was your 4th of July?"

Mal was just opening her mouth to answer when Tobin and Christen entered the room, a sudden flurry of shouts and cheers erupting from the scattered tables.

"Hot bod, Press!"

"DAMN, Christen, I mean we’ve seen it in the locker room but… DAMN."

"How do you feel knowing guys are going to be pulling this out from under their bed for _months?"_ from a grinning Ali.

Christen just twirled, laughing as Tobin went to fill a plate landing somewhere over in the corner.

"Ladies, ladies, one at a time."

When Christen chose to sit next to her, Mal felt as warm as a summer night. But also still confused.

"What are they talking about?"

"I did a photoshoot. For ESPN." She grinned a bit shyly. "Nude." Pulling up something on her phone, she slid it across the table top.

_OH._

_Wow._

Honestly, these were incredible. Not gratuitous at all. Just power and cut and poise.

She glanced up: "Christen… these are beautiful. You look… You look like a goddess or something."

Lindsey murmured next to her, chin nestled into her shoulder as she peered at the screen. "Yeah, Chris. You look like you were made for the field. Like, you’re beautiful, but your body is… perfect. Like a weapon."

Christen chuckled, dropping a thank you before getting distracted by a shout from Megan.

Mal’s thumb scrolled the screen but the photos were a slow blur. Her attention was on the chin still nudged against her trapezius. "…You know you’re made for the field too, right?"

Lindsey pulled away, cheeks no longer flushed a pleasant rose; more red, splotchy sort of, and her eyes dark. "No, God, I’m a bulldozer. PSG wouldn’t even let me play sometimes. Said I had to lose weight."

_What? Yeah, F that._

"Lindsey."

The blonde shoved eggs in her mouth.

Mal tugged the sleeve of her sweatshirt till chewing cheeks tilted begrudgingly in her direction.

"Lindsey, that’s shit." Blue eyes widened at the rare curse. "You are strong and powerful and any coach worth a cent should be able to see that your body is exactly what it needs to be."

The tint skewed more deep sea than beachside; turned evaluating. A little confused even.

She swallowed. "Well, thanks. I’m not sure everyone would agree with you. But thanks."

When she turned back to her breakfast, Mal just sat, looking at her a little longer.

What the world does to perfectly beautiful women is so cruel.

She’d find a way to make Lindsey believe it.

The girl deserved it.

* * *

**7/22/16  
Kansas City, KN  
Friendly: US v Costa Rica (4-0)  
Goals: Dunn, Pugh, Lloyd, Press**

Hot tubs are the best.

She hadn’t done anything like this in _years._

But first things first.

"Hey, Linds."

"Yeah?"

"You look really good in that bathing suit."

Mission underway.

* * *

**8/3/16  
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
Olympic Games #1- US v New Zealand (2-0)  
Goals: Lloyd, Morgan**

She was really here.

Well, here was a white nondescript hallway in an athletic complex. But that didn’t matter. Because all in an instant she had realized…

She was HERE.

She was playing for her country in the Olympic Games.

A shocked and wondrous laugh fell from her throat.

"You good, Pugh?"

She glanced to Morgan, a smile spreading so wide she though it might reach her ears. "Morgan. I’m in the OLYMPICS."

A chuckle in return. Then an arm slung over her shoulders, leading her further down the hallway towards the locker room.

"Come on. Time to put on that red white and blue."

Mallory swallowed the lump in her throat and the wet at the corners of her eyes.

She had made it.

* * *

**8/6/16  
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
Olympic Games #2: US v France (1-0)  
Goals: Lloyd**

"Chris?"

"Yeah, baby?" the forward’s hands were threading carefully through Mal’s hair,lip tucking into her mouth as she measured the strands for a braid.Christen’s hands, the quiet distraction but tender presence in their motion, felt just like her mom’s when she was younger. They would always weave ribbons into it — the color of her jersey, whichever team she was on at the time.It set off a sweet and aching pang of longing in her throat for a home that no longer existed.

"…I’m really glad Tobin found out that day."

"That so?"

"Yeah." Mal held stiff and still, striving for obedience to the deft motions at her head, even while her mind was somewhere else. She could tell Chris would need to be guided in to this.

"…She checks in on me sometimes. Not in a invasive way. Just checking." A light tug; the sort that feels good. "It’s nice."

Christen just hummed as she finished up the side, sliding a band off her wrist to tie it off. She pivoted Mal’s head to the left, fingertips slipping into her hairline to gather the loose wave.

_Come on._

"…Do you like her, Chris?"

"I like her a lot, babylove. She’s a good friend." 

_No dice._

Now it’s Mal’s turn to hum, eyelashes fluttering lightly as she gave in to the meditative quiet of someone else’s hands in your hair. Into the memory of older hands, softer with age but so sure in the motions.

But, even stuck in memory, Mal could tell by the slight twist in Christen’s mouth and the momentary stutter in her hands that, just maybe, the woman knew she was asking something else.

* * *

**8/9/16  
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
Olympic Games #3: US v Colombia (2-2)  
Goals: Dunn, Pugh  
Note: Pugh scores in the 59th minute, becoming the youngest US player to score a goal in the Olympics.**

Ok, well at this point they’re just being _obvious._ Like, ballpark kiss-cam bait and Mal’s fingers itched for a sign or something to point at the two proclaiming "THESE ARE THE ONES WHO SHOULD KISS. PICK THEM."

Chapstick.

Frickin geeze.

* * *

_"With four players closing in on her from every side, a sea of yellow, Mallory Pugh got off a low hard shot that went through 6 players, including the goalkeeper, to get in the back of the net. And just like that, the Coloradan native shot_ _herself into the record-setting spot of youngest U.S. player to ever score a goal in the Olympics."_

The news team was recording live, Mal placed just off screen before she’d get the nod to enter in and say her bit.

WAS THIS EVEN REAL LIFE.

It felt like all of her dreams were coming true.

She never wanted to go home again.

* * *

**8/11/16  
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil**

"Ok, wait, I’ve got another!"

Her cheeks hurt from laughing so hard.

"…Did you hear how the Scooby Gang did at the Olympics?"

"No, how’d they do?"

"They were gold-meddlists."

Milk shot through her nose.

* * *

"Think we can celebrate sometime? When we’re back? The apartment they helped me find after I aged out in April … you could come see it…"

 _Please. Please_.

"…and we could — I don’t know — go for milkshakes, or something?"

 _I’m ready to sew these seams of my life together. Please._

The older woman’s thumb smoothed her cheek.

"Mallory, I would love nothing more. We’ll pick a date, ok?"

Mal hugged her so tightly she was scared she may actually hear a crack.

She loved every second of it.

* * *

**8/12/16  
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
Quarterfinal: US v Sweden (1-1), PKS (3-4)  
U.S. Goals:** **Morgan  
Penalty summary:  
USA: Morgan (save) Horan (goal) Lloyd (goal) Brian (goal) Press (miss)  
SWE: Schelin (goal) Asllani (goal) Sembrant (save) Seger (goal) Dahlkvist (goal)**

She can’t believe they lost.

Can’t believe she’d missed the final six minutes because of a stupid slide-tackle.

Can’t believe Christen had _missed._ How that must feel.

_This is not how things were supposed to go._

She can feel the traitorous tears on her face.

Lindsay is wiping at them, saying something as she tries to move her, tugging her jersey for some reason.

She moves with the motion, ears trying to filter the words through the surrounding volume.

"You were so good, Mal. You were so good."

She looked up into the worried eyes of her friend.

This incredible friend.

"You too, Linds." God, her nose was leaking as the horrible roar of the stadium continued. "You were too."

* * *

Mallory hunted through the rooms till she found her, trying to wipe the startling red of Tobin’s eyes from her mind. Clearly the loss had hit her hard. But a hug would have to do for now. A hug and then a closed door because —

She needed to find Christen.

Where was Christen?

Ultimately, it was Becky’s.

Mal was able to slip in right as Alyssa was slipping out, pausing for a sad smile and a wordless chuck under the chin.

Christen was a slump on the far bed, Becky reading a book out-loud from under the covers, propped against her own headboard nearby. It was like she was trying to occupy the space. Like Christen had asked her to. Needed to break the silence.

Becky paused when Mallory appeared.

Mal crept closer to the collapse of a woman.

"…Christen?"

Eyes popped open, green and shattered; a small and wounded inhale as her arms clutched tighter around the fetal bend of her knees.

"Mal?"

She took another step closer."Hey…"

A broken croak. "I’m so sorry, baby. I fucked it up. You did so well, Mal. You were amazing. But I fucked it up."

She crawled over on her knees, curling up in a mirror image, shins pressed all hard and knocking against Christen’s own. Wrapped her arms just that bit further to shove against the woman’s thighs and clasp Christen’s calves instead of her own body.

"No." Cooed. Soft. "We have bad days, bad plays, just like you said." The woman’s eyes squeezed, lines cutting deep into her forehead. "… You’re still my favorite player, Chris. You’re so good." Clenched eyes start leaking tears, ragged little breaths erupting in the space between them, body trembling in the tension she’d clasped around her body. "This wasn’t you. We’re a team. And I’m so proud to be on a team with you." The sobs were outright now.

"I’m so _sorry. So sorry."_

"Shhh. No, no."

" _I’m sorry."_

Mallory couldn’t even tell if it was to her anymore.

Mal unfolded slightly, pulling Christen’s hands off their pale-knuckled clench to bruised knees. Pushed slightly at those same knees until a little space appeared between the woman’s shuddering chest and legs. Mal guided one hand to arch over her shoulder — then pushed the other up the covers until she could scooch down carefully into the gap, reaching her own arms around the woman’s back. They adjusted, Christen slipping into a full bodied hug with the small girl clasped to her chest as she wept.

"I love you, Chris. You’re still so good. We’re a team. It was all of us."

After maybe a minute of shuddered breathing, Mal’s head tucked resolutely under the woman’s chin, Becky picked up again, seamless, bringing a calm and droning narrative into the weight of the room.

She didn’t know what it was. Some sci-fi novel, but it did its job.

The woman in her arms started breathing a little more normally, hand slipping temporarily off Mal’s back as it arched up to wipe tears off her cheeks, she thinks. Then took its place again, squeezing in gratitude.

They were a team.

They would always be a team.

* * *

With a hazy sort of recollection later, she realized — she hadn’t thought about a razor once.

* * *

**9/15/16  
Columbus, Ohio  
Friendly: US v Thailand (9-0)  
Goals: Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd, Press, O’Reilly, Heath, Dunn, Morgan, Morgan**

"Hey … sorry, I think I must have the wrong room.."

"Wait, you’re looking for Chris? You’ve got the right one. She’s just in the shower. Want to come in and wait?"

Her head shook slow, unbidden.

'Um… no, I — I’ll just — I — Night, Alyssa!"

She all but ran away.

Her stomach flopped in her abdomen.

_What’s going on?_

_Where was Tobin?_

* * *

**9/18/16  
Atlanta, GA  
Friendly: US v Netherlands (3-1)  
Goals: Lloyd, Long, Own Goal**

Tobin sitting there in that shower — crying there — might be the worst thing she’s ever seen in her life.

* * *

**9/24/16  
Denver, CO**

Enter: a day in 4 Acts.

 _Christen comes tomorrow:_ Anxiety.

 _Christen comes tomorrow:_ Joy.

 _Christen comes tomorrow:_ Terror.

 _Christen comes tomorrow:_ Hope.

* * *

**9/25/16  
Denver, CO**

Seeing through Christen’s eyes… well.

She knew it wasn’t great. She’d been keeping it clean and ordered as possible. But no cleaning could hide the stains on the carpet. The yellowing cracks on the ceiling from old water damage. The way the exit to the shared balcony had an extra door with bars on it when you lock up like you might actually _need_ it. 

"Um… here, let me take your stuff to the bedroom. I figured I’d either take the couch or we can share. Sorry, it’s only got the one."

Mal slipped Christen’s bag off her shoulder hefting it over her own, then, grabbing the bar to the little suitcase as well, walked the few steps through the back hallway to the room on the left.She could feel Christen trailing after her, eyes taking it in. Not that there was much: the entry room one large melding of kitchen and seating area: the hallway with one bedroom and one bathroom each to a side, closet at the very end.

"I’m fine with sharing."

Mallory tucked Christen’s things against the far wall and turned, sweeping her hair behind her ears at the sight of the older woman leaning against the doorway, eyes flitting about, unreadable.

"Um… so how about those milkshakes? There’s a spot just down the street. They’re really good, promise."

The green eyes squinted, cheery lines finally appearing at the corners and Mal felt her lungs unclench.

 _It’s just Christen. This will be fine._

"Sounds great."

* * *

A finger poked at her forehead and Mal went crosseyed at the approach, unwilling to pull away from the straw entrenched in a perfectly thick and creamy chocolate malt.

"What’s that from?"

"The Harry Potter scar?"

Christen snorted.

Grinned: "that’s what my dad called it." Took a suck, letting it melt slightly on and around her tongue. "Monkey bars."

"Did it hurt?"

"Couldn’t tell ya. I was always a bit wild. Really high pain tolerance."

An eyebrow arched as Christen sucked at her own strawberry shake, frosted and pink in the tall fluted glass.

"My parents hated it," she laughed, the memories peeking up from the back of her mind. "I once hit a tree while snowboarding. Smashed my front teeth in. I thought my mom was gonna finish the job and strangle me when I wouldn’t let the snow patrol take me down the hill. Wanted to finish the run myself."

White teeth bit a red straw, the older woman’s lips pulling back in a mid-sip chuckle.

"Once my ear had been hurting. Not, like, a ton, you know. But it’d been going for a bit so I finally told my folks."

More chocolate.

"The doctor was shocked. I had burst my eardrum. Apparently we really should have been able to tell. I can still hear them — my dad, I think he was laughing sorta, but he also was _so_ embarrassed. Like 'Oh my God, we’re bad parents!' … 'but she didn’t show any signs!'" Her voice contorting to replicate the remembered baritone.

Christen smiled, listening: slid her own glass across the tabletop. "Try. It’s so good."

Mal leaned forward, taking a sip.

Stellar.

(But chocolate was always better.)

" _Mm."_

"Yeah." Christen sipped again. "Worst injury?"

A full bodied-snort. Wow, it’d been a while since she’d told this one.

"Ok, get this. 12 years old. My friend was over and we were in the garage. Typical sporty family garage, you know? We had this big hook-pulley thing that would loft the bikes up to the ceiling for storage." Christen’s eyes went large. " _OH YEAH._ We did. She hooked it to my shorts, and Christen, no joke, I made it TEN FEET up." She leaned back, arms spread wide on the table almost proud. "Finally my shorts ripped and I hit the floor, right on my hand."

Christen winced.

"It looked like a bent branch. Like, 'Storm, meet Tree' break."

"Oof."

"When my dad saw it he was horrified of course. Told me I couldn’t play in my club team’s tournament that weekend."

"Well, yeah." Christen’s head was bent over sucking. Like there was truly no question.

_Just you wait._

"I looked straight at him. Straight at my arm." Christen’s head snapped up. "…Then I popped the bone back into place."

"Mallory, NO."

"Oh yes. And I played that whole tournament too. Bubble wrap all around the brace." She smirked. "Scored, like, eight goals too."

Christen looks genuinely impressed and Mal is thriving in it.

"You’re intrepid, girl." Puffed the air out of her cheeks with an amazed shake of the head.

Mal shrugged. "Soccer." 

Christen laughed. Leaned back too with a knowing shrug. "Soccer."

It had been such a nice afternoon.

* * *

Mallory was just unlocking the door, Christen giggling somewhere behind her shoulder about the cute boy who’d tried to talk to the younger girl in the lobby, all blushing and attempted bravado.

Next thing she knew Christen was bumped into her frame, Mal almost shouting at whoever had done it when she spun and saw three large and packing police officers; one pressing his finger to his lips then pointing a finger for them to go indoors. The other two stalked to an apartment a few paces down and across the hallway.

_Shit._

They squeezed through the gap, Christen sliding against her before the door even fully opened, tugging Mallory with her before spinning to hit the lock. 

"Mal! What the —"

_Why did this have to happen today? Keep it cool._

"It’s fine, Christen. This happens sometimes. It’s normally over in just a few minutes, no fuss. Let’s just hang out and —"

The sound of a door crashing in.

Mallory winced as Christen spun with wide eyes like maybe she could see through the wall.

Yelling. Sharp, commanding — met with fury, cursing —

Christen’s back visibly tensed and Mal reached out a hand towards her shoulder but—

A shot rang out.

_Oh God._

Christen was pushing instantly, shoving bodily into the young girl, forcing her away from the door, stumbling backwards until they were in the back hallway. Pushed her down and threw her body over her.

— Another —

"Don’t move, Mal. Stay down."

Mal couldn’t focus. Thrashed, trying to spin and crawl towards the bedroom. You were supposed to go to the bedroom.

"Don’t move — don’t — stop —" Christen hefted her body full along the smaller frame, pushing her onto her back to better tuck the head against her breastbone — elbows stancing wide with one arm over her own head and the other tucked around the top of Mal’s. 

Mallory tried to swing her arms around her, to cling to her, anything, but Christen batted them down — tried to hide them under her body. "Stay down."

The sound of running and shouting. A full-bodied slam against a wall somewhere right outside. The voices were large, masculine, booming —

Another two shots and Mal cried out shrilly in fear, almost whining with it, curling into a ball sideways and Christen adjusted, moving limbs till they covered her again — hid her — pulse pounding so furiously in her throat it was like a vice. "I’ve got you, Mal — stay down—"

 _Shit. Shit. This is —_ More thudding — _Shit —_

… then finally a pause. Just shuffling.

 _"Call a bus_! _"_

Clattering - then someone in the hallway - a tenant she thinks - yelling - obscenities and slurs - " _Shut the door, ma’am" -_ scratchy talk on a radio - " _keep him —,"_ a shuffle, " _—stay down" -_ heavy boots on the stairs - a siren somewhere outside now.

Christen pushed up on all fours a bit, gasping. Set a hand on Mal’s head - pushed it just lightly against the carpet. "Stay down - I’m gonna - I’ll go see if -"

Mal just curled tighter in a ball as Christen inched carefully up - crept towards the door, hunched and anxious. Pressed her ear to it. It still sounded loud, but ordered now. Like the louder voices were commanding the scene. She unlocked it first, then grasped the handle and pushed it slowly down — inched it open and glanced —

There were at least 5 cops now — 3 of them in various positions of holding a panting man — white, tattooed, far too skinny, teeth gnashing as he struggled — a hand against the base of his neck and the other on the handcuffs clinched behind his back. Other hands pushing down at other limbs. One officer was leaning against the stair railing gasping, hand pressed against his chest like he was checking his vest. There were people standing in the hallway now, leaning from their doors and watching, muttering, filming.

She glanced up — eyes flashed to hers. "Go back inside, ma’am. We’ve got this under control."

_Like shit you do._

She slammed the door shut and locked it. Rushed back to Mal — the girl still curled on the floor, crying quietly now.

"Mal, it’s don—"

_"I want my mom."_

Christen’s heart sank into her gut.

"Sweetie—"

A shuddering inhale turned moan the moment lungs had air enough to push over her vocal cords — "I want my mom!"

Christen sank to her knees, then folded to lay alongside that curled frame — tried to pull the head against her chest. "I’m so sorry, Mal. I’m so sorry."

"I want my _mom_ ," wept and breaking. Shaking there on the floor. "I w-want" — she was shoving at Christen’s arms — "I know, sweetie" _—_ almost screeching now — _"_ my _mom_."

_This isn’t working._

_I don’t know what to —_

Christen stood up again, took stock. _Yeah, ok. Ok._ She walked to the other side of the girl and leaned down to a squat, praying for her back to hold. She slid an arm into the crook of the girl’s knees and the other just under her shoulder blades. Positioned her body for a dead lift and — the girl was surprisingly light for a muscled and athletic frame — Christen adjusted till the girl rolled into place a bit — carried her into the bedroom and lowered her down to the bed.

She curled right back into a ball.

_This is—_

Christen climbed on behind her. Tried to flip her gently, ease her frame over until the head met her lap — entrenched her fingers in her hair.

"Shh, baby, it’s over. I’ve got you."

"I want my mom," moaned, even as her hands grasped at Christen’s thighs, her knees, looking for anywhere to hold on.

"I know, baby. I know."

"No!" — Pet that shuddering head even as it pressed deeper into her legs, nosing for comfort, for safety, for hiding. "I want my _mom_."

"I know."

God, this was — it was — This was so far outside Christen’s scope. Her beachside family home, and Stanford apartments, and hotels after hotels in the steady crawl of international friendlies and tourneys. She had been so focused on the _Olympics_ , so certain of the darkness and the tragedy of her own life, and Mal had — she’d been here alone and —

"I’ve got you, baby."

Soccer was beautiful but it was a _game._ It was a game and she’d thought Mal was just kind — just gracious when she’d comforted her — certain she’d blamed her for losing. For no medals. For being America’s laughingstock but Mal was — she was just a girl, just 18, and there were such bigger things than soccer, and Christen had overlooked them all.

"Shhhh."

"—Christen, I want—"

"Shh. I know. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry I’m not her. But I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Mal. I’m here."

Hot tears were seeping through the denim of her shorts, the girl’s head shoved nose first into her stomach, arms wrapped around her waist. Christen could see old white lines at the top of the girl’s belt loop and her heart ached ached ached. She folded over best she could, knew her own tears would be soaking through the cotton shirt in a moment but needed to be closer; to cover; to hold.

"Chris"; gasped into her stomach.

"I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you."

"Chris"; just a whisper and the shape of it against her.

"I love you, Mal. I love you. You’re safe and I love you."

Every line like a penny in a well.

Such small words, so worthless on their own.

But wished: growing, made prayer for manifestation.

Made miracle.

* * *

An hour later the two girls lay side by side, curled up like parentheses as they whispered in the day’s dying light.

"It’s what I’ve got, you know? I’m lucky to even have a job — it takes some so long. I’ve got enough for here for now. I’ve got to save the rest. I can’t — I can’t count on this. One injury and I’m out. I’ll be able to sign next year and over time things will change but … until then, this is it. This is what kids like me get. And that’s ok. I’ve had plenty of friends do it. It’s …" She trailed off.

"Mal, you should be so proud. You’ve been— you’ve been keeping this home, and making it your own, and managing the travel and the pressure and the — you’ve done so well. So so well." Christen tucked her fingers around the girl’s in the middle of their two bodies. "But I don’t want you to stay here. Please come back to Chicago with me. Just till you sign with a team. Then I’ll help you find an apartment myself. We can get you set up in any city you want. Anywhere you sign. Sweden if you want!" The girl chuckled, just a little. Christen squeezed her hand. "But let me help just this once. Please?"

Mal’s eyes had shadows underneath them and Christen wondered how she’d missed them for so long. Had they been there since her birthday? Had they always been there?

"Chris… it’s not your job to …" she winced, "really it’s horrible, I know. I should have known not to bring you here. I just wanted to…" Her mouth scrunched up, searching for the words. "Everything felt so _separate,_ you know? Like, one moment I’m here in this place, hiding in the bedroom wondering if it’s safe to leave yet, and two days later I’m flying to the Olympics! And no one there knew. I mean, some of you know my situation, but no one knew …me? The me that also lives here, right? But it’s not even about the apartment, you know? It’s everything." Her head ducked down for a moment, rubbing her chin against her shoulder in a clear stall. Christen waited her out. "…Between leaving the center and graduating high school and only playing on the national team now, I’ve just been… _alone_. It’s like there’s two of me and they’re so different and — I thought maybe if you came to visit — if someone could know _all_ of me." Her head shook against the quilt. "But I can make it another 4 months. You don’t have to —"

"Please, Mal. It doesn’t mean you haven’t done something incredible, creating a home here on your own. It doesn’t mean I pity you, or I’m disappointed, or I think you can’t do it. I realize that so many of the kids you grew up with probably lived here in these same apartments, making a life just like you are from what the world gave them, and that’s noble, Mal. It is. They’re making the best of what they’ve got. And so are you. But, Mal…" she inched just a bit closer "… you’ve also got _me."_

The girl’s cheek hollowed as the inside was tucked between her teeth — chewing and anxious. Released.

"You can’t just fix me, Christen. Can’t just fix all my problems. Some are too big. And they’re mine to fix anyways."

_God, I want to, though. If only I could._

"You’re right. I can’t fix your problems. I … I’m sorry if it’s felt that way. If it’s _been_ that way." She swallowed. "But this isn’t me trying to fix your problems. I promise. This is just giving you a firmer place to stand. You’re so capable, Mal. I don’t doubt that you will take this world by storm. But you said it yourself — it’s just 4 months. You can tell me if I start to try to fix things. But this… let this just be help. Not fixing. Just help."

The girl’s mouth twisted, a tooth appearing as it pressed into a lip.

"You’re not my family, Chris. You’re not… you’re not my mom. You don’t owe me anything."

"I know I’m…" _God, I would welcome you in an instant if I could. You could have Channing, and Tyler, and Mom and Dad and they’d love you and Brianna could come too and Mal please, just let me be something, anything,_ "I’m not your family, but" green eyes tracked her own thumb as it smoothed back Mallory’s hair, "what if I just _want_ to be there, Mallory? Why does owing have to have anything to do with it? Can’t it be 'want' instead?"

Hand coming back to the middle, Christen rubbed a knuckle with her thumb, chuckling a bit glumly. "If anything you’d be doing _me_ a favor. I’ve been… not dealing with Rio well. Too caught up in the loss of it. Too caught up in… well, a lot of things. Maybe you and I can just make a go of it and… help each other these next few months.We may not be family, Mal. But maybe we can be each other’s team?"

That twisting mouth pushed just a bit further. God, her cheeks were probably shredded on the inside.

"…It wouldn’t be a hass—"

"Not even in the _slightest_."

The girl nodded minutely. Pushed her fingers further into the meld of their hands.

"…I would always choose your team, Chris."

What can you do but smile at something like that?

"So, you’ll come?"

"…Yeah, let’s do it."

Christen squeezed her hand, eyes going soft.

Then impossibly softer.

"Mal? Would you tell me more about your mom? About your family?"

Mal hadn’t even realized she’d been waiting for someone to ask that question for years.

For someone worth sharing the answer with.

"I… I think I’d like that." There was only one thing that could make it feel even better. "Will you… will you braid my hair while I do?"

"I would love to, Mal." She leaned up and slid her legs over the side of the bed. Looked back and patted the edge of it.

Mal rounded the bed, sank to the floor between Christen’s knees, and waited till the woman’s fingers were busy at their work.

The memories wove colorful and true, like ribbons passing through Christen’s fingers. Like ribbons shining in Mallory’s hair.

* * *

**9/30/16  
Somewhere on I-90**

They were leaving for Chicago within the week, Mal’s stuff packed up into a small U-Haul and a rented truck for good measure. Then they took on the 19 hours of asphalt between the two cities like an adventure; went for a hike in Badlands National Park then stopped for salt water taffy at the Wall Drug Store as a reward; took ridiculous photos in the Mitchell Corn Palace, cheesing so hard their mouths might have met their ears; eyed the surprisingly unimposing Mt. Rushmore (" _why do they make you stand so far away?" — "Hey, have you heard of Alexander Hamilton?")._ And finally, after a brief stop at a monthly storage unit, they pulled into a row of townhomes in a Chicago suburb.

"Home sweet home!" Christen pulled the truck into park with a smile.

God, it was such a different world. Trees, and clean sidewalks, and varied paint colors, and — Mal swallowed, some undefined emotion cloying inside her. A little gratitude certainly. Also shame.

"Hey —" Christen squeezed her knee. "None of that. You are a champion, Pugh. And this is just one step on the road to greatness that you’ll earn all for yourself."

She smiled briefly up at this woman who looked so much like her sister. Who reminded her so much of her mom.

Shook off the sadness in her soul.

"…Actually. I don’t think I mind doing it together."

* * *

**10/4/16  
Chicago, IL**

"Kind of feels like camp, right? Like we’re roommates." Christen’s toothbrush waggled from a foamy mouth, shoulder stanced against the doorframe.

Mal shrugged from the guest bed. The sleep shirt swimming on her frame made her look 5 years younger even than her tender 18.

"I’ve loved being here. And I love being with you. But, no … it doesn’t feel like camp. It can’t." Paused. "I miss her."

Standing there in the bedroom doorframe, Christen didn’t even need to ask. She ducked across the hall to spit out the last of the toothpaste, rinsing quickly to return to her lean.

"You can see Tobin any time you like, Mal. You know she’d love that. I can even help you get to Portland if you want to visit."

"No, I know." The girl picked at the blanket a bit. Smoothed the resulting wrinkles down. "I miss — I miss her _here_." Looked around. "Well, not here obviously, but" she gestured back and forth between the two of them. "Here. With us."

Christen swallowed hard. Came to sit near the little quilted mountain of the girl’s feet as she kept speaking.

 _"…_ I know I said you’re not my family. I know you’re not my mom, and neither is Tobin, and I — you’re two grown women and your relationship" ( _Christen’s abdomen tumbled)_ "is your own business. And nothing was saying this had to stick. But…" she dug her heel into the sheets a little, "other than my sister, we were the closest I’ve had to a real home in years. And I just … I was scared to say it. Even more scared to ask for it but … I wanted it to last."

Those were the words. She said them more confidently. "It felt good, and it felt like family, and I wanted it to last."

"Mal…"

The girl’s nostrils flared, hands fisting in her blanket-covered lap. "You’ve only used my name for the past 9 days."

_Huh?_

_"_ Sorry? I … that was a quick turn, Mal. Can you explain that?"

"My name. Ever since that day in the apartment, you’ve only called me by my name. Not baby. Not babylove. Not sweetie, or honey, or — or anything. Just Mal, or Mallory, or Pugh."

"I… I was trying to respect you, Mallory. I should never have assumed I could use them in the first place. We’re not family, and you’re not a kid, and I shouldn’t have assumed that it was ok. I’m trying to be your teammate."

"I lied."

"I — Mal, these curves are really getting me. I’m trying to follow but — ok, you lied about what?"

"Is it possible?"

"Mal."

"To be family. I told you I would always choose your team. And — well, that isn’t a lie I guess because I think you’re the best player in the world but, Chris. I want to know if it’s _possible_. To be family." She leaned forward slightly, brows creasing in the middle. "And I don’t want you to tell me what I want to hear. If you really think I’m an adult, then treat me like one by telling the truth. I can handle it." Leaned back again, eyes going sort of soft and confused. "But I spent all this time trying to not be a kid. To be on top of things and strong and to have it all together. And then," her hands flung up, "here we were and all I wanted was for you to call me baby again and to be allowed to not have to be an adult around you — to just … just be _Mal_. Or baby. Or sweetlove. Or just be whatever it is that we can be. And," God, you could see everything on her face. Every single part of this. "I feel a little silly for that because I’m 18 and maybe I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but Chris, I think maybe adults need families _too._ I think — I think _I_ need one. So I want to know if I can. If we can. If you would… if you would want me. That’s," she sunk back against the headboard like she had nothing left to sit up by her own power, "what I want to know."

Was it possible for your heart to literally melt? Because Christen didn't think it could feel any different than this. Than this love pouring through every vein in her body. It was like when you got knocked off your board and you were caught in the surf and just tumbling head over heels, nothing but water and echo and rush around you. She was dizzy with it.

" _Mal."_ It was practically a gasp. Like coming up for air. "Baby, there is _nothing_ that would give me more joy in the world."

Mal burst into tears.

"Oh, baby. Sweet one." Christen was by her side in an instant and for all of a minute they were all arms and all hair and all tears and _shh_ and clutch as Christen marveled at how this girl had just pulled off the most spectacular moment of bravery she had ever seen. How was she so young and so old of an 18 at the same time? How was she more in touch with who she was and what she needed than probably _Christen_ was at almost 28?

There was one thing she knew for sure, and that was that this girl was a marvel. That this girl deserved as much family as her heart could hold. And that Christen wanted to always be worthy of it.

Finally she pulled away, both of them laughing wetly as they extricated their curls from one another before Chris sank into a sit near Mallory’s still-covered knees.

"I love you, Mal. So much. And while I can’t technically speak for Tobin, I know her. I know her and I think I can confidently say that whatever happens between Tobin and I, we’re both going to be there for you. Ok? This isn’t a pick and choose situation. We will each be as much of a friend or a team or a family to you as you want us to be. Whatever you want… we’re here."

She gripped a gentle hand around the covered toes to her right. Squeezed once for good measure.

"Christen…" she wiggled her toes and the older woman chuckled a bit as they moved under her fingers. Then Mal’s voice went wistful. "What happened between you two?"

 _Oh._ Christen’s heart seized.

"I…" _careful with it,_ "I let myself get caught up in it. In this… little world the two of us were living in."

The tiniest shoulder shrug imaginable. "So?"

"So, little worlds don’t play out in the real world. Never the way you want them to. It… it wouldn’t have worked. It wouldn’t have been good. For either of us."

"But how do you _know_ that?"

"I just do, baby." God, that pout was killer.

Mal hummed, eyes searching her face. "… She misses you."

Christen stood to her feet again, walking once more to the top of the bed. Ran a finger down the girl’s nose before tapping it.

"I’m right here. Just… not the way she wanted."

"Or the way you wanted."

Chris just looked down, tugging the blanket up a little further on Mal’s waist.

"Do you miss her too?"

"It’s really time to sleep, hun."

"But what if it’s love, Christen?"

Christen pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I love _you."_

Mallory pouted again as the older woman moved towards the door. "Not the same and you know it."

"I’m leaving," Christen’s fingers fluttered in a charmingly obvious dismissal.

"I’m going to bring this up again you know."

"Good nighhhhht," a blown kiss as Christen’s hand moved towards the switch and —

"Wait," Mal vaulted up to sit straight, undoing the perfect tuck of the blankets. "Chris—"

She paused, hand resting lightly on the bit of plastic. "Yeah, babylove?"

"Knowing you’re going to be in my life is the best gift I could ever imagine."

_God. This girl. Where did she come from?_

"I couldn’t have said it better myself, Mal. Now sleep."

And with one last kiss off the tip of her fingers, Christen turned off the light and shut the door.

Well, tonight was certainly a lot of emotions. Mallory slumped down against the headboard for a second, just remembering the last 30 minutes. Then snuggled down under the blankets.

She’d done it. She’d found someone worth it. Someone worth _choosing_ to be your family. … And Christen chose her back.

Mallory didn’t know what winning the Olympics felt like yet but she was pretty sure it couldn’t be better than this.

…BUT. Christen and Tobin. She couldn’t say she understood that, honestly. Who made the real world "real" anyway? Wasn’t it just a collection of everyone’s little worlds rubbing up against the others until they fit the best they could?

The only real world was a car crash. The only real world was something you couldn’t come back from no matter how hard you tried. But this… _them._ Well, if she was ever lucky enough to get something like they had, that easy warmth she had watched and curled up vicariously into on a dozen nights, you can bet she wouldn’t let go until every chance was gone. Not if she had a say in it. She’d lost too much to throw something as good as that away.

She grabbed her phone from the table in the dark, dropping it briefly between nightstand and bed spurring a frantic and awkward one armed search in the cramped space. But, finally, retrieved, she pressed her thumb to the middle and rolled to her stomach to type.

> Mal: "can I ask you a question?"
> 
> Tobin: "shoot"
> 
> Mal: "if someone you loved was missing out on something really really good because they were scared or didn’t understand what they were giving up … what would you do?"
> 
> Tobin: "Huh"
> 
> Tobin: "I guess I’d tell them what I observed and give them a chance to respond"
> 
> Mal: "and if they don’t? "
> 
> Tobin: "I’d love them best I could"
> 
> Tobin: "and I’d pray for them to have courage."
> 
> Mal: "I think I know how to do the loving part here…"
> 
> Mal: "but can you teach me to pray? When we’re back together again?"
> 
> Tobin: "Yeah, Mal"
> 
> Tobin: "I’d really love that"
> 
> Tobin: "You’re doing ok?"
> 
> Mal: "Yeah"
> 
> Tobin: "Promise?"
> 
> Mal: "Cross my heart"
> 
> Tobin: "cool"
> 
> Mal: "Tobin?"
> 
> Tobin: "Yeah?"
> 
> Mal: "I love you"
> 
> Tobin: "I love you too Mal"
> 
> Mal: "Promise?"
> 
> Tobin: "Cross my heart"
> 
> Mal: " 'cool' "
> 
> Tobin: "sassy"
> 
> Tobin: "night kid"
> 
> Mal: "night Toby"
> 
> Mal: <3

It was their business.

But she really really hoped Christen would see it soon.

* * *

**10/18/16**

**Sandy, Utah**

"Ok, so. A good place to start is Matthew 6. I picked you up one in the airport on the way here so that we can both look, and then you can have it afterwards. Do you need me to show you how to find the different sections?"

The brunette had slid a beautiful leather-bound book across the table, her other hand flipping open a worn one of her own towards the back third. Mallory could see underlines and sketches and post-its scattering color like stained glass through the pages.

She couldn’t help but smile.

Every part of this woman was passionate. Even her spirit. It was a different expression than people told you to look for — quieter. But hotter. Like the blue of a flame.

She put her own hand onto the book in front of her, glancing up before opening —

"Tobin?"

"Yeah?" The smile emanated peace.

"Thanks."

"Thank _you_ for letting me share this."

A barista set a dark-roast and a hot chocolate on the table.

Tobin slid them into place, took a sip, and grinned.

"Ok, let’s do this."

* * *

**10/19/16**

**Friendly: USA v SUI (4-0)**

**Sandy, Utah**

**Goals: Williams, Heath, Press, Mewis**

It was a Wednesday.

They weren’t even doing anything important. Weren’t talking about anything serious.

Then Lindsey leaned over and kissed her, blushing as she pulled away.

A shocked pause.

An internal avalanche.

Mallory leaned over to plant one more surprisingly-sure kiss of her own.

Noses hovered an inch apart …

Lindsey ducked her head, then grinned.

"MarioKart?"

"Yeah."

As the dust settled, the little shaken bits of her internal landscape settling into something altogether new, well…

It felt like something in her was becoming more whole.

Everything in her life was becoming more whole.

* * *

**10/23/16  
Friendly: USA v SUI (5-1)  
Minneapolis, MN  
Goals: Lloyd, Lloyd, Press, Dunn, Ohai**

"Oh my God, Tobin, you really did it!"

She probably should have said it quieter, but she was just so _excited._ Just weeks ago Tobin had been sobbing on a shower floor. To see her here now, misty-eyed but proud? Self-confident? It made Mal believe that maybe she could be this sort of person too. Someone who had her demons and had fought and lost a thousand times — but who learned how to become stronger. Who came to know who she was and love it.

Thankfully, Tobin didn’t look like she minded the volume; just nodded gently, a little smile on her face.

"I did."

"How’d it go?"

"I haven’t had the chance to tell Katie or Jeff yet. But Perry was…" Mallory could see it in her eyes, "she was _wonderful_ , Mal. Knew already, honestly. And we’re going to start getting together more regularly which we should have started years ago but…" if she had the power to see further she knew Tobin’s aura would read as yellow, "I’m really happy about it. Happy to have her back in my life in a significant way. "

_Sisters really were the best._

Mal reached out to lock fingers gently, Tobin’s rubbing back with her thumb.

"…And your folks?"

_Oh._

Mal’s heart broke. Broke that Tobin’s parents couldn’t see how strong and wonderful of a woman she was. Couldn’t see how deeply she loved and how good that must be. And, warming in her heart, there was the seed of knowledge that if her parents had been alive they would love her right through a conversation like this. That it would only have made them closer.

So Mal would offer what the dead could not. What the blind could not.

She laid a kiss to the older woman’s cheek, then moved her head to her shoulder.

"I’m sorry, Toby."

"Me too. And there’s a lot more there we need to work through. But I’m glad I did it anyways. I’m…" there was a little rumble that passed through the midfielder’s chest into hers. "I’m happy, Mal. I’m honestly happy."

Mal nudged against a bicep; murmured softly. "Who you are is beautiful, Tobin. And I’m proud of you."

And, honestly?

Mallory was happy too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley: Ug, Tobin finally took my bus buddy. I’m done for. I have no friends.  
> Emily: Well, I’m new and as of yet unclaimed. I can be your friend.  
> Kelley:  
> Kelley:  
> Kelley: I also don’t have a girlfriend.
> 
> Leave a comment: How did you like seeing Mal’s side of things?!


	10. A Long Day - A New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you think she can ever forgive me?"
> 
> "…I don’t know, Chris." 
> 
> What she wouldn’t give for a yes. But Kelley had always been too honest for platitudes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily: You’d do that for me?  
> Kelley: I’d do a lot of things to you.  
> Emily: For. For me.  
> Kelley: Yeah, that too.

**10/25/16  
Press Home  
Palos Verdes, CA**

"Thanks for letting me stay with y’all, Chrissy."

"Well, we were all going to the airport anyway and flights here were less than two hundred dollars. Seemed worth it for good food and the chance at family for a few days."

"Yeah, but thanks for letting _me_ come."

"You are family, Kell. You know that. Plus, my parents love you."

Kelley just walked carefully around the room, fingers running over the edges of furniture and trophies as she passed.

A snort interrupted the silence as Kelley grabbed a photo frame off the desk. "What a bunch of idiots." She flashed it at Christen.

It was the one of Kelly, Christen, Justice, and Lisa after her first Stanford soccer camp. Arms were thrown over shoulders, all of them dripping with sweat and laughing about something; Christen so much so that her eyes were squeezed shut and Kelley bent practically double.

"We were so young." Kelley mused softly, tracing the frame.

Christen fell back on her bed with a sigh. "Feels like a lifetime ago."

A freckled hand lofted the photo again; shook it lightly."I honestly didn’t think you’d keep this one."

Christen’s chin tipped down towards her chest. "Because…?"

Hazel flickered hesitantly to green. "Because you got it that night."

_Ah._

Christen let her chin tip up again; let the old glow-in-the-dark constellations on the ceiling pull her solar systems away. "I think you may associate it more with everything than I do. I never saw it after I left it in your car. Didn’t find it till a few weeks later in a box you’d packed from the apartment."

Kelley hummed, a fingertip pressed to her younger face.

Something in the air was shifting — even from Andromeda Christen could feel it. She lifted up on the bend of her elbows.

"Kell?"

Eyes flickered over again before retreating to guide the frame down delicately to the table. "I lost you after that."

_What?_

Her brows pulled towards the middle. "Kelley, I moved in with you all summer. We went all the way to the championship together. We’ve won a World Cup. My mom calls you her fourth daughter."

"Yeah, I know."

"Then what are you talking about?"

The eyes that met hers weren’t cold by any means but they reaped a similar effect in their unrelenting transparency. The woman shrugged.

"You never let me in again after that. Never let me know what you were thinking. It was like you built this wall and mortared the chinks. I couldn’t even get my fingers in."

Christen gasped at the brutal spareness of the image. " _Kelley._ "

"It’s ok. I know it was my fault."

She was leaning against the desk now with her arms tucked around her waist like self-made armor, lower lip trembling slightly. It was terrible. Christen couldn’t stand it.

"What was your fault? Kelley, I don’t understand what you’re saying."

"I introduced him to you. I encouraged it. I stood beside you trusting as he promised to love you. I let him destroy you. All that light and joy in you that he shattered. You would still have it if it wasn’t for me."

"Kelley, _no_." The air in the room had turned thin, and Christen’s lungs had to work overtime. "Where is this coming from?"

Winter-field eyes snapped up from the floor, fierce and red-veined. "It’s true! I’m only saying what’s true, Christen. You were my perfect and happy and … fucking _ethereal_ best friend. You were so pure. And within two years, my choices destroyed your life." She was choking on the words now, vocal cords ripping over the syllables. "…And you never forgave me."

Christen found herself scrambling to her feet, soles grounded like a woman poised for battle. "I never blamed you in the first place! Kelley, this is crazy!"

Tears were escaping angrily from the corners of stubborn red eyes and Christen wondered at how this had turned into … whatever this was so quickly.

"It’s NOT. You were a fucking mess, Christen. We may have lived together but you hardly _spoke_ to me let alone looked me in the eyes. You barely slept. I was forcing Ensure down your throat because you refused to fucking eat. And I got it, ok? What happened to you was horrible. And what it _left_ you as was horrible but I was _trying_ to be there for you. _Desperate_ to make up for it. And then you—" God, that girl could light fires with her eyes when she was angry; she smacked a hand back and the entire desk rattled "— you went to Madrid and left me without so much as a goodbye! And when you came back you were — you were—" her hands lifted in an expressive thrust at Christen’s body.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

God, they were _shouting_ now. This was supposed to be _nice_. This trip was supposed to be warm and home and relaxing and —

"That you became fucking Fort Knox! And you were all shiny again, and kind, and affectionate and people thought you were back to normal but you never _ever_ let me see you again. Not really. Not _you._ And I know it was my fault but I needed you, Christen! I needed my friend back! And I didn’t deserve it but I wanted it. I just wanted to be your friend again."

It was all violence and shout but the woman was definitely crying now and the anger Kelley had projected as impenetrable as granite instead began flickering away into gap and haze like ruined confetti falling to the floor. Christen’s chest crumbled at what was left standing in the reveal.

She was at her side in an instant, thumbs swiping at the slicing tears. "Kelley, you _are_ my friend. You’re my _best_ friend. I love you."

Kelley’s arms hung inert at her sides as she just leaned against the furniture, helpless in her weeping. And Christen wondered if some of these emotions were the repressed overflow of the fiasco in Rio, but _she_ was the reason they had started now and that was untenable. Kept her hands at her face, trying for connection.

"Do you hear that? I _love_ you."

_She’s not hearing it._

"Kelley. Kelley, look at me." Tried to get those blues on her. "I get to decide what I forgive and what I don’t. Not you. And if there was _any_ fault—" she dragged that chin back into place. She couldn’t let her miss this. "—ANY. It’s forgiven. It’s gone."

Kelley was all saline and mucus and weeping and she dragged her sleeves across her face, breaking Christen’s grip. Pulled her body in on itself like paper in a fist. Christen tried to lift her shoulders up; tried to uncurl that body so she could do something, anything, but Kelley was immovable in her collapse, seated heavily against the woodgrain of Christen’s high school trappings.

She could only pull back and wait, hovering a few inches away in suspended tension, desperate to help. To understand.

Finally, the smaller woman emerged from her hunch, eyes heartbreakingly swollen. A tiny voice tripped out. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen now. There’s just been a lot recently and I’ve fucking missed you and —"

"Shh, Kell, it’s ok. Come sit with me. I’ll listen. Just … tell me what you’re feeling."

She hooked her fingers around a little wrist, tugging the woman to move and come sit against her bed with her.

Kelley took a breath. Sighed.

"Chris, you’re not… you’re not _well_."

The flicker of annoyance — of defense — was automatic. She was the one _crying._ This was supposed to be about _Kelley._ Why did everyone keep makin—

 _"_ I don’t know if you know it. I think for so long I thought it was just with me. Because of me. But I’ve watched you and… Christen, do you let _anyone_ in?"

She legitimately had no idea what to say. Her mind may as well have been a magician shuffling cards trying to reveal this moment: anger, confusion, frustration, fear — Is this your card? Is this your card? Nothing fit the bill. All in .5 seconds as Kelley pressed on —

"You’re so good, Chris. You’re so sweet and gentle. You take care of everyone around you. I’ve seen Mal become a completely different person because of you. Your friendship with Crystal has done more than you know. Hell, even Tobin has done this 180 into… I don’t know. _Something."_ A freckled hand was clenched white in Christen’s high school bedspread. "But I never… Chris, I _never_ see you changed by something. I’ve never seen you _let_ yourself be changed. And —" it unclenched. Flexed. "I don’t know, I just miss you. I miss who you were. I miss who you were supposed to be. You’re," her eyes were as blue as old jeans and as threadbare _,_ "just… static."

_Static?!_

"Ouch, Kelley. That — well, that smarts a little." She chuckled harshly, unable to hide the wound bleeding through the note. Straightened her spine instead. "Honestly, I feel fine. I don’t know what you’re talking about. What you’re expecting from me…"

Plaintive. "Do you really have no idea? None?"

_Well —_

"Ok, Tobin said something sort of similar but it’s n—"

Kelleys head rocked back and eyebrows vaulted in her interrupt: "Ok, THAT too. Chris, what the hell _happened_ between you and Tobin? Y’all were getting so close that I actually thought — well, and then you weren’t. Like, you didn’t even _look_ at each other in Minnesota."

"It doesn’t matter. It was just a disagreement."

Kelley’s nose flared in a frustrated huff. "See, _that_. That is what I mean. The moment someone encroaches on something you’re uncomfortable with it’s like you just shut down. Everything is 'fine' suddenly and 'you’ve got it handled' and 'really, it’s all for the better'. You can’t have everything so handled all of the time, Christen!"

 _And we’re fighting again._

"Why not?!"

"Because it’s not human! It’s not possible! I have been waiting for you to crack into pieces for _years_ now." She had always been so expressive with her hands.

"And I haven’t!" Spit and fire. "So maybe you’re just _wrong_ , Kelley."

"You may as well have! This isn’t living, Christen. I knew you when you were living and this… this isn’t it." Suddenly, Kelley sank to her knees on the floor, fingers clasped over Christen’s knee. "Christen. Christen, please. It doesn’t even have to be me. But you’ve got to… you’ve got to do _something_. Talk to someone. You can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch you do this anym—"

"Kelley."

It’s a new voice. Two sets of eyes fly up to Stacy Press standing awkwardly in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in each hand.

"Maybe you should let me take it from here, hun."

Kelley’s eyes bounced rapidly between the two Press women, knees shifting against the carpet.

"I’m sorr—"

"Don’t be sorry, baby. But maybe take this hot chocolate down to the kitchen for a moment as I speak with my daughter."

Christen battled to restrain her glare at the freckled woman as she rose slowly to a stand, walking over to take the offered mug.

"Thanks, Miss Stacy."

"You know you can call me just Stacy, sweetheart."

Kelley pressed a feather kiss to her cheek, the anticipated comeback significantly more dampened than usual but striving for familiar humor. "Tell that to the state of Georgia."

Stacy swatted her behind lightly with the now unoccupied hand. "Cheeky monkey. We’ll be down in a bit to start dinner. I expect your help when we do." Kelley nodded and slipped out of the room with one last anxious glance.

Turning back to the brooding manifestation of a pout on the end of the bed, the older woman sank down knee to knee. "Baby—"

"Why is everyone so _angry_ with me all of a sudden?"

Stern eyes pinned the grousing girl, mollifying her in a moment.

"Sorry," her voice much smaller now, "I just… It’s been a hard few weeks."

Aging hands passed over a mug of hot chocolate, marshmallows going gooey at the edges just like Christen had liked as a kid. She took a sip in penitence.

"I tried not to listen in but you both got pretty loud there. I thought I’d make something sweet for the make up, but when I got here it had picked up again."

The creased eyebrows would look a lot more fiery if there wasn’t a line of chocolate foam on her upper lip. "Kelley was going _crazy_ mom. About…" a glance down in the sudden awkward of a name they rarely spoke, "Carson first, but then it turned into a rant on me being a robot or something and how I’ve been a bad friend."

"That’s not what it sounded like to me."

A small pout.

Stacy wiped the chocolate off her daughter’s lip.

"It sounded like concern to me, baby. It sounded like she was worried about you."

"I’m _fine_ , Mom. I don’t know what she was talking ab—"

"Chris."

_How did moms do that?_

She ceased her tirade, burrowing into the action of another sip.

"I’d maybe let it go without us talking, Christen, but I have to be honest. She was saying some things that sound uncomfortably similar to observations your dad and I have made as well."

A jaw drops. "Are you kidding me?! You and dad are rallying behind this too? I can’t win! Why is —"

"Christen, stop _fighting_." The jaw snapped shut. "These are people who _love_ you, baby. People who know you better than anyone in the world. Don’t you think maybe you better listen?"

Teeth ground audibly, but Christen gave a little flip of her hand. Just enough for her mom to catch the intent.

"Thank you. Now, I don’t know everything Kelley said, but I know what I’ve been wanting to say for a while. Which is this." She took the mug out of her daughter’s hand and settled it carefully on the floor around the corner of the bed. Grasped both hands in hers. "Baby. I know this is hard, but there is something in your worldview— the lens in which you’re looking at your life … sweetie, it’s cracked."

Christen’s opening mouth aborts at a cautionary eyebrow.

"And I know it feels like the only way you’ve ever lived. I know you think it makes sense. But can you listen to me? Can you hear what I’m saying? The way you’re living. The way you’re loving. It’s only going to leave you empty, baby. You fill others up-up-up but you never let anyone return the favor. You’ve stopped allowing yourself to be weak."

_This is ludicrous._

"Why on earth would I want to be _weak_ , mom?"

"Your friend Tobin, she’s a Christian right?"

_Why are we doing this?_

"Yes?"

"They’d say it this way. When you’re weak, then He is strong."

"…Ok?"

That skeptical brow was so 6th grade Christen that Stacy almost had to laugh. Or to reprimand. But this was too important a lesson, and Christen had always received better when spoken to softly more than stern. _Channing_ however had needed every bit of ster— but that wasn’t the point. Back on track. "Sweetie, love _requires_ weakness. Only when you’re vulnerable do you give love space to grow strong. To _give_ you strength."

Despite impulse, Christen knew by now not to speak in the pause.

"Since you’ve become a woman, a teen really, I’ve watched you push away anything that would hold you back from what you perceived as greatness. And I think - in my own lack of understanding - when I first saw it I thought it was wisdom. Thought it was something to celebrate. A tenacity in you."

"So?"

Stacy traced the back of her daughter’s hand gently, marked the lengths of the bones leading to each finger.

"It wasn’t just Carson." It still made her flinch sometimes, her mom’s knuckles squeezing a bit tighter at the jolt. "I know he broke you — Kelley was right. There is nothing I regret more than not pushing that summer. Not showing up whether you wanted me to or not. I _knew_ something was wrong and neither of you girls would admit it but I should have known. Should have trusted my gut." A turn in her voice. "But it wasn’t just him. He’s not the only reason you’re feeling this way."

" _What_ way? _"_

 _Truly, why did everyone keep acting like she was supposed to understand. Nobody was making any sense._

"Do you remember that elephant you had?"

_And here we go into nonsensical again._

"The glass one? Of course I remember it, Mom, you threw it out the window."

"Yeah… baby, I —" she sighed. "You know, being a parent is crazy. It’s so amazing. It’s like getting to see everything in the world again for the first time because you’re watching your kid see it. Every achievement is this miracle." A faraway look in her eyes. "And then your kid starts _growing_ , and getting personality — shaping into an actual human being — and you just want to marvel at the fact that you had any part in that at all. And it’s so strange because they’re so independent, so different than you that it’s hard to believe they could ever be anything except exactly what they are and you just got to… watch it happen rather than play an actual role."

Stacy had begun to worry at her lip, eyes planted on the plait of her and her middle daughter’s hands.

"Mom?"

She looked up. "…But being a parent is also terrifying, Christen. Because why would anyone give people so young a baby? Why do kids have to grow up with a parent who is learning? Because the older you get, the older your kids get, the more you realize how little you knew, and the more you have to own that yes, your children are uniquely who they are. But you also … shaped them when you didn’t mean to… left cracks in who they should have been. Cracks in how they view the world."

"Why are you—? Mom, you were a _wonderful_ —"

Stacy pulled the protesting hand off her knee and back into her grasp. "I’m not trying to —"Shook her head. "Christen. Baby. Just let me get this out."

She raised a hand to Christen’s face, ran a thumb across her cheek with a forlorn little smile Christen wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before.

"That elephant. At the time I was just… that’s who I was, Christen. But even grownups grow up, baby, and when I look back, that is one of the moments I most regret of your entire childhood."

Christen knew she was wide-eyed. "…Why?!"

It was on her tongue instantly. Like she’d been waiting for months to say it.

"Because there you were, holding something so pretty, something that brought you joy. This innocent thing you loved so simply. And all I could see in it was bad luck. This … jinx. So, I took it away from you.But what’s worse… " a shake of her head, "what’s worse is that I let you believe that there were things in your life — even things you loved — that could ruin you. That success or failure could be measured by stepping on a crack, or not wearing the right color pre-wrap, or by holding on to the wrong things. I let you believe that it was worth avoiding those things to give yourself the best chance at the picture in life you wanted."

Her back aches from an injury years ago and she had to shift her position on the queen-sized bed, lifting slightly to tuck an ankle under her hips. "Baby, you are so strong. You are so beautiful, you are so capable. But the more you grew up, the more I could see your… desperation. Your anxiety. The panic attacks. Your certainty that you weren’t enough, wouldn’t be enough, couldn’t succeed without doing everything perfectly. That you needed total control." A squeeze of her hand. "I thought it was just drive, just _you_ , but, baby, that’s not who you used to be. That kid in the car, she wanted to win, sure. But even if you’d lost, you would have gotten that little elephant out of your bag and watched it glisten and loved it all the same. And I know this isn’t a perfect metaphor but, Chris, I can feel it in my _bones_."

She made sure Christen was looking at her before continuing.

"No one makes your future but you, baby. And win or lose, I want you to hold on to the things you love. Because that _is_ winning. Don’t throw something you love out in the play for control. Because even if doing that did help you win … winning isn’t enough to fill you up."

The younger woman was trying to tip her head away and a just-softening-into-wrinkles hand pulled it back. "Christen, do you understand me?"

The girl’s eyes were watering and she shook her head roughly as pressure built behind her forehead.

"Mom, I know what you’re talking about and it’s not _fair."_ She wished they were in separate chairs. This was too — too much. Too close. _"_ I _coudn’t_ have a relationship. It isn’t until… well, really recently that I’ve gotten comfortable with sex at all."

_Interesting._

"…I’d like to hear more about that, if you’ll tell me. But that’s not what I’m saying, honey." Her head tipped slightly. "Well, actually, I guess it kind of is actually — I imagine there’s a reason you’ve been able to enter into physical intimacy that you’re not looking at." _The point of it now._ "But Christen, sex has never been why you couldn’t have a relationship."

"Yes, it _is —_ no one would w—"

"Stop it."

Shoot, that _was_ stern and Christen flinched at it. Stacy tried to pull it back in.

"Baby," even softer, "there are couples all around the world who can’t have sex for a whole range of reasons. Spouses on deployment. Incarceration. Depression. A medical issue. _Trauma_ ," she eyed her obviously. "And they are still there for each other. Still the world to each other. You haven’t lacked relationships because you’re scared of sex, honey." A bit of a scold seeped into her voice. "Though I fully believe you’ve told yourself that." Then back to maternal lecture. "But you haven’t been in relationships for another reason. Because good sex may be the goal in some ways, sure. But it is _everything_ else that makes the sex matter at all. And that’s what you’re scared of, Chris."

"Why does everyone keep calling me _SCARED?_ I’m not scared! I’m logical! I know what works. Not doing something that is bound to fail doesn’t count as being scared. It’s being _smart."_

They were on to 4th grade Christen now. She would always grandstand, then fidget like this as a child. Use it as a distraction to pull away when you were getting too close to something she was trying to conceal.

"Oh, honey. Babylove, let’s try this another way." She re-secured her hands. "When you were little, you loved coloring books. You loved the pictures and the chance to dream up the colors and you would draw these wild scenes. Minnie Mouse was suddenly in a boat in the ocean. Or a flower now had a fairy hiding behind a petal. These beautiful and passionate imaginings. You would color outside the lines like they were only there for you to make something out of them. Not to fit something in them. But that’s gotten so buried over the years." Pain. "Been _abused_ over the years. I wish with all my heart that I could go back and tell that rare, vibrant, force of a child that life was going to try to change her — make her stay in the lines for the sake of the 'perfect picture'. But the reality is, she didn’t have to keep everything so under control. Her pictures were better anyway."

Christen was staring at the wall and Stacy tried to duck her head back into view.

"Do you hear me, baby? When you were growing up, I didn’t mean it, but I told you that some things didn’t fit in the picture of what you wanted to be and thus you needed to throw them out the window or risk ruining the whole thing. I let you believe that was keeping away the bad but instead, I set you up to get rid of the very things you loved. To think it was what was inside the lines that mattered most; whether that was winning, or good grades, or being the nice girl that everyone could rely on. Even before college you were drifting into that — that mindset."

Christen was a stone but she could tell the girl was listening. It was in the stance of her head. She knew her daughter. Pressed on.

"But there was still a hint of that bold line-crossing girl in you. And then Carson… and your diagnosis. You two had the same picture of what romance should be and that’s why you worked so quickly. But then when it couldn’t fill out the way you both expected it to, he had" she couldn’t hold back the bit of venom, " _no_ imagination for what it could become. All he wanted was what the picture said he should have. You could have painted him this _whole world_ around it that was full of depth, and beauty, and connection, and still intimacy and sex, just in a different way. But he rejected it. And he didn’t just reject it — he ripped that picture you tried to paint for him to pieces."

That young and broken face had quiet tears now and Stacy was almost wrecked by it — almost moved to ceasing, but Christen hadn’t given her a space like this in years. Well — maybe Kelley had made the space, but Christen was listening and — Stacy needed to keep going. Needed to make this clear.

"I think you came to believe that _love itself_ was outside the lines, Christen. That sharing the brush and trying to paint a picture of an interdependent life alongside someone could only lead to pain. But what he gave you wasn’t love, honey. It wasn’t. Love should make us live, baby.It crosses every line we have with color and vibrancy and — yes, sometimes it hurts, sometimes it makes us feel out of control — but it also fills us up-up-up until we can handle _any_ picture the world throws at us because we have a whole world around it to make that thing beautiful somehow. Even if it is a picture of losing at soccer. Even if it is a picture of trauma. Even if it is illness."

She didn’t have much time left. She could tell by the growing tremble in Christen’s shoulders.

"You’ve been working so hard to keep this picture of a successful soccer player. Of a woman who always has control and calm. To make it perfect. But baby, you’ve been trying to do it all _alone._ I don’t care what the picture is, Christen. Be a soccer star. Be a CEO. Be a safe place for Mal and kids like her. Be a writer or a designer or — I don’t _care._ I know you’ll do it well, whatever it is. But baby, you have so much living to do _outside_ the lines. The stuff that makes the rest of the picture worth it. And the people that make it worth it. Baby, it’s time to be weak. To unclench your knuckles and let someone else color in the white space of your life for a change."

Christen was full on crying at this point; embarrassing, heaving sobs. She didn’t even understand why this river of tears had erupted. It was like it was right there on the edge of her brain. Like her heart had grasped it before her mind could. But she just couldn’t quite reach it and—

She let her mom draw her to her chest, legs pulled over her lap like she was 5 again.

"I love you so much, Christen. I can’t believe how lucky I am to be your mom. And I want nothing more for you in life than for you to love someone like I love your father. Like I love you. I don’t wish you _winning_. I don’t wish you this iron-fisted control over the good and bad in your life. I don’t wish you an elimination of risk. And I most certainly don’t wish you a perfect picture, because where’s the fun in that? Where’s the life in everything sitting neat inside the lines? Baby, I just wish you line-crossing world-coloring pass-the-brush love."

"I love _you_ , Mom," Christen wept into her shirt.

She was a mess. All tears and mussed mascara and red eyes.

"…My beautiful, beautiful girl" Stacy hummed.

Then with a decades-old familiarity, she slipped the legs off her lap, tilted her daughter up, pushed her shoulders straight until Christen was sitting tall and strong, unashamedly occupying space, and began a small braid in the depths of her hair. "One day you’ll be a mother, sweetie. If you want to." Her fingers twisting. "And you are going to feel your heart swell so large it doesn’t even fit in your chest. It has to overflow and take up residence in this little body. And it never leaves."

She finished up the little plait and tips up a chin. "But first you’ve got to _let_ yourself love. Let that love you have for a partner grow so large that the two of you can’t help but need another person to place it in. Can’t help but let your love explode outside of the lines." A soft smile. "…Don’t you want that kind of love, baby?"

She couldn’t even answer. Just pushed her forehead into her mom’s shoulder, nose nudging into that hiding space between arm and chest.

"…Will you be there with me? Will you help me? I don’t — I don’t know if I remember how…"

Stacy kissed the top of her head.

"Every step of the way, baby. After all, half my love is right—" she snuck down a finger to tap against Christen’s sternum, "here, outside the lines of my chest. And love is never _truly_ weak, baby. Not really. Because there is someone else to be your strong. And so you are."

Christen released a watery chuckle, leaning back as she dragged a sleeve across her nose.

"You’re all the strong I ever needed anyway, mom. You’ll always be enough."

* * *

A big hug, a shower, and a bit of fresh make-up on her swollen eyes later, Christen descended into the kitchen.

"Ah, there you are baby. Kelley and I have been having a nice chat" her voice lilts with authority, "about what _is_ and _isn’t_ someone’s fault. But we’re about to cut the vegetables for the roast. Though, first," she raises an eyebrow at a freckled and fidgeting sous chef.

Kelley glanced at the older woman like she was checking a script but the words when she turned to speak were genuine. "I’m sorry I yelled at you, Chris. I should have found a better way to share what I was feeling."

"Great job, sweetheart. Now, Christen? Is there anything you’d like to say back?"

"…I’m sorry too. For yelling back. And for not… not hearing you like I should have. Not being there for you like I could have."

The two blushed as their eyes crept into contact, shy and a hair ashamed.

"There, now doesn’t that feel better?"

Well, that made her roll her eyes. But when they finished their revolution to land on the nascent grin of Kelley’s face, she had to admit: the familiarity of laughing at how much of a mom Stacy Press could be was nice. She let a small grin flash back and it felt like a laying down of arms.

"Told you so," from a satisfied mother. "Now…" she paused to slide a cutting board over to Kelley along with the carrots and celery she’d retrieved from the refrigerator. Pointed at the knife block and Kelley nodded.

"Since we’re back together, and everyone is on their best behavior" an imperious brow leveled at each repentant girl leant against the marble island, "there is one thread of this conversation I would like to pick up. You told me you had recently become comfortable with sex," Kelley’s eyes were glued to Christen in an instant, "and I’m pretty sure I heard Kelley say that she thought something was going on between you and your friend. Baby, have you been having sex with Tobin Heath?"

Christen gasped.

Kelley blushed.

"Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to out you like that."

" _Kelley!_ "

"Hush, Christen. You think I haven’t noticed how much you’ve mentioned her these last 6 months? You’re more transparent than you think."

Kelley snorted and Christen leveled a glare her way.

_Did I just come out to my mother? I haven’t even come out to myself! This is not a settled thing!_

"Kelley doesn’t know what she’s talking about."

"Christen." It was as dry as the Mojave. Kelley didn’t even bat an eye when Mrs. Press leaned over with a sigh, adjusting her hand on the carrot to spare her fingers later; "The entire team has been speculating for _months_. I think the kid was legitimately looking into buying those giant foam fingers with 'PREATH' scrawled across them for when y’all finally made it official."

_Preath? What the hell was th— OH._

"Oh come on, it couldn’t have been THAT obvious."

Mrs. Press leaned back against the sink with a smirk as the freckled girl set down the knife and lofted both an eyebrow and a finger into the air.

"Your and Tobin’s wardrobes started getting mysteriously intermingled back around April."

A second finger popped up.

"We watched the Sixth Sense at a team movie night before you were called up, so I _know_ that’s not why you asked her to watch you get naked."

( _"What?" "She’s talking about the ESPN thing.")_

A third —

"Tobin once let you keep your hand on her thigh for an _entire 23 minutes_ during a film session."

( _"You timed it?!")_

A fourth—

"Morgan and Sam had the room next to you in Rio and they said they heard some _particularly_ interesting noises com—"

"OhhhhKAY, that’s enough, I get it." Christen cut in with a lateral glance at her mom; shoved a hand in her fresh-showered hair. "She’s… We—"

_Why is this so hard._

"Just tell us about it, Christen." Her mom, suddenly so soft again. "You don’t have to pretty it up. We just want to know what’s going on in that heart of yours, baby."

"She’s…"

—with a deep breath Christen started tearing some rocks from the wall, ribcage crumbling at the effort until there were shimmery beams of light breaking through —

"She’s _incredible_ , mom." The adjective was released in a gasp. Like a realization and a benediction in one life-giving breath. "She… she’s so smart. Like, she sees the world so uniquely; sees under the surface of it. And she makes me feel so _safe_."

Kelley pushed the cutting board forward, elbow planting so she could tuck a hand under her chin.

"We… she was helping me with my therapy. I told you about that. She’s who has been there… the whole time. And she was so gentle, and so understanding, and she didn’t care when I was stubborn or terse or weepy. She was this perfect friend. Just helping. And we were — we were good. We were friends who knew the hard stuff about each other and kept it safe, you know?"

It was like Stacy and Kelley had mutually decided to let not a single sound disturb the words Christen was finally willing to share. They waited as she caught a breath.

"…But then this time passed and… Mom, when she starts to get comfortable with you, she gets so _funny_. These little quips that are so clever - but never mean - and…" Stacy watched as her eyes widened a little — her cheeks to glow, "the more hours we spent together the more I just started to _see_ her. To see every little thing about her. And _every_ time she told me something about herself I wanted to write it in a journal and hide it away just so I could open it later to read it again. So I could marvel at who she is and how she got there. Like, I would fill _libraries_ just with her and read every page."

It’s like she can’t stop, now that she’s started.

 _"_ Harry Potter is her favorite and any time I can’t fall asleep she asks if she can read it to me. The 4th one most of all. She knows that I like floral teas and not citrus even though I never told her. _She_ likes coffee. Dark roast. She knows the names of all her neighbors even though she only lives there half the year. She likes the smell of my shampoo. She thinks mint tastes like soap so she uses bubblegum toothpaste even though she has to get it in the kids section. She believes in God. Like really believes in him, with everything she is. She has a journal just for art museums where she writes down her favorite paintings so she can look up their stories later."

Faster and faster.

"She’s killed every aloe she’s ever owned. She says she likes all of them equally but she _always_ grabs the Riptide Rush from the Gatorade cooler first if it’s there. She’s a Hufflepuff, and a Gemini, and when she touches me, she thinks she’s being selfish but I want it. Every time I’ve wanted it. Been waiting for her to ask. I should have told her that I wanted it."

She burst into tears all over again.

" _Dammit."_ She slammed a hand down palm first against the marble. Twice. And again as she folded almost double over the surface before leaning up in a rush. " _Dammit,_ I was so—" she sniffed "s-so _mean_ to her, mom. I was so scared. So scared of how she looked at me. So scared of h-how she felt — how _I_ felt, and then I screwed up and we lost and I— I just— I was —"

"Shh, baby, it’s alright." Stacy was like a warm blanket. Like a quilt on a couch in a midnight thunderstorm as she rounded the island to pull the weeping woman to her chest. "That’s it baby, let it out. It’s alright."

Christen nosed into her mom’s shoulder. "She’s so strong. You would like her so much. She’s fought for every good part of who she is, even when the world was trying to tell her it was bad. She apologizes when she’s wrong, and she never assumes anything, and she makes me feel like I — like I —"

Christen’s eyes were burning with the clench and the wash of it. The salt and the pressure. She pulled back, arms detaching.

"But it was too good, mom. It was too good to be true. All I could think about was her. She was all I wanted. And we kept pushing further and further but neither of us would admit what was going on and — I didn’t _want_ to admit it because I knew once we did I would have to st— but then she came to me and she _wanted_ me and — she was so _present._ So open. Like everything was on the table now. And I wanted her back. _Let_ myself want her."

She clutched her chest; fingers grasping and pulling at her neckline.

"But it felt… Mom, it was like everything I was was in her hands at that moment. She could have done whatever she wanted and I would have been helpless against it. I was totally overcome. Undone. She held me and she was so _good._ She was so kind. So — god, so vocal in a way she’d never been before and I felt like I was drunk it was so — but—"

Christen just shook her head, wide eyed. The hand clenched tighter.

"But it was going to cost something. It had to. There’s no way it wouldn’t cost something. It was too much and I couldn’t take it. It was too much." Eyes clenched shut as her head began to shake, "Or what if one day she was there and she — she _wasn’t_ that way. If she had me and she was selfish. Or cruel. To break all over again like before — I can’t do it, I can’t go through that again, Mom. It’s too much. I can’t—"

"Chris —" her mom was trying to get her attention, trying to call her back from someplace she didn’t even remember traveling — "Chris, sweetie, that’s not going to happen again." Her hands on her face, soothing. "It’s not."

Christen batted her arms away. "Who says?! You don’t _know_ that. You can’t!"

The arms came right back, just as tender. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’re right. I can’t." 

Christen let the hands stay on her arms this time. Had nothing left to push them away. 

"But, baby, even so, you can’t let this hold you back from loving her. From living, Christen. You’ve got to give love a chance. Let yourself be a little weak, baby. Please, there can be so much more. You need to stop being so afraid, my love. She sounds like someone who can be your strong, Chris. And like you can be hers."

She could feel it — right there — just on the edge of her mind, that picture of her and Tobin. The picture she hadn’t let herself observe. The colors filtering in till it was a vision of Christmases and beach days and crying after lost games and making out at stoplights until the car behind you honked and —

She moaned in a finally admitted awareness she’d kept deadbolt-locked somewhere in the depths of her. 

"But Mom, I told her it didn’t mean anything. I told her… I told her to — I told her the _worst things_ , the exact opposite of what she deserved to hear. It was horrible. I was so — and then even when I tried to soften it, when I needed her back somehow, any part of her — I thought I could rewrite what had happened. I thought if she didn’t really feel that way about me … if maybe it was really something else and I had been wrong we could go back. But it — it wasn’t _true._ I didn’t — _GOD —_ I hurt her so badly. I didn’t mean to. Not really. But I did. What if — what if she never — what if I —"

Hands cupped her cheeks, pulling those awakening eyes up to meet her own. "If she’s anything like you say, I’m sure she’ll forgive you, baby. You were scared. It’s a scary thing loving someone else. Being loved. Just tell her about it. Apologize. It’s ok."

"But what if she _doesn’t?_ " The tears were slowing now but she felt like syrup. Sticky and dense.

"You apologize all the same. You treat her with all the dignity you should have offered before. And Christen," her hands drop to hunched shoulders, massaging at the tendons, "then you treat _yourself_ with dignity too. The dignity to make a mistake, and grow from it. To move on and still believe that you deserve love. To tell friends about it, and receive comfort. You’ve gotta shift the lens, honey. You’re so much more valuable than what you do. What you win. Than the control you maintain. You’re valuable for who you _are_ , Christen."

She sniffed. "Well, I don’t like who I am right now very much."

"I like this Christen a hell of a lot more than the one upstairs."

Christen startled.

_Right. Kelley._

Bleary eyes fell on her faithful friend. That wonder of a woman. A 5’5’’ tornado-of-a-girl who stuck through the madness and was still here, barefoot in the kitchen making pot roast with her mom.

"…Yeah?"

"Yeah."

It was said with such certainty that Christen couldn’t find any alternative but to receive it. To believe it. It felt like a little key scraping rust off a locked part of her heart. But as the door opened, the striking pain hit again.

"Do _you_ think she can ever forgive me?"

"…I don’t know, Chris."

What she wouldn’t give for a yes. But Kelley had always been too honest for platitudes.

"But," a peace offering and an admonition in one, "Chris … I think the pain of not trying would be worse than the risk."

She thought about it for a second. And then Christen looked into those hazel eyes and let herself be honest. Let herself really consider it. And with fresh eyes, she realized … perhaps that one statement was the truth of this whole affair. The broken lens behind her eyes that had shifted something so good into fractals. Shifted _everything._ It was time for something new.

She nodded.

And Kelley smiled like the skies had finally parted after a year of rain.

This faithful, challenging, wonder of a friend.

A sudden and distant thought drifted through Christen’s head — one she'd never been brave enough to ask before. Her mouth curled around it, hesitant, unsure but suddenly desperate to know.

"Kelley … what did you take to his head?"

The freckled woman froze — bit at her lip, a guilty quirk sneaking into the corner of her mouth.

"…I grabbed the 10 from his weight set in the living room."

There was a long pause.

Then Stacy circled the island to swing an arm around the freckled girl’s waist, dropping one sincere and grateful kiss against the curling fawn wisps at her temple.

"I always knew you were my favorite daughter."

Christen let herself sink into the familiar and into a growing and overwhelming warmth. "Hey!"

Kelley snickered as Stacy flashed over a watery but growing-to-hope grin. Perhaps… just maybe… this was all going to be alright.

Right then, a yawning Mal trailed in from the living room.

"Oh my god, Tyler’s bed is _amazing._ I’m sorry I napped so long. But I had no chance. Like… none." Her hands were playing in her lunatic hair, reminiscent of a 6 year old Channing on Christen’s game-day mornings. "What’d I miss?"

_Just my whole world shifting on its axis._

It was shame at first. But suddenly, a growing joy of awareness as she watched the sleep-hazed girl stretch; get distracted by old photos on the fridge with a giggle. If she loved Mal this much already… god, there must be such _heights_ of affection for them yet. Such… knowing.

Stacy rounded the island to pull the girl into her side, laying a kiss in her hair. "We’re just preparing dinner. Want me to teach you the best way to make mashed potatoes? Press family recipe."

Mal nodded, eyes widening from their sleep-slow blinks; turned bright. "Yeah, totally! Did you know, I’ve actually been thinking of trying to pick up cooking?"

"Well, then!" Stacy mock gasped, hand strong on her hip. "You’ve come to the right house, little love! This one is all about the butter-to-milk ratio. You’ll be a pro in no time." She jolted away with a sudden gasp —

"Kelley, no! Tuck your fingers back over. I will not be taking you to the hospital on this trip, missy." A long finger pointed with a squint at the mollified girl who had returned to the carrots and celery.

She adjusted her grip. "Sorry, Miss Stacy."

" _Stacy,_ Kelley, just Stacy. I’ll get you to say it one day, baby."

"Mmmmmm…" A head tilt. "Nope!" Kelley popped the P, making Mal giggle as she climbed to a kneel on a kitchen stool. "It’s a battle you will never win!" She turned to the carrots with a focused and deliberate finger-spared chop.

Stacy just laughed and set a bowl filled with rinsed potatoes and one empty one in front of the youngest girl. "Ok, so we’ve got to peel them to start. Make sure to put your fingers here at the bottom and push the peeler down along the top side. I am _serious_ about no fingers lost on this visit, girls." 

She guided Mal’s hands into the right place, showing her how to spin the peeler to follow the curve of the Russet and remove just the skin. Then took her hands away to watch the result.

Not bad. There was far more hope for this one than Kelley.

Stacy walked back around to the other side from the girl, letting her elbows support her chin as she leaned against the marble. "So, Mal, I heard you’re a big Preath fan."

The girl gasped, spinning to look at a once-again-blushing Chris. Then back at her mom. "Wait, is it finally going to be a thing?! Is she admitting it??"

Christen rolled her eyes with a laugh, coming up to sneak her arms around the girl from behind, eyes warm on her mother as Kelley snickered from the far side with another little _chop_.

"We’ll see what happens, baby. I have a lot to make up for … and Tobin gets to decide if it was too much. But, yes. I promise you, I’m going to do my best. She’s…" she could feel the warmth rising on her cheeks and she hid her face for just a moment against the girl’s back. Resettled her chin over a shoulder. "She’s worth it."

Another tumble of rocks slipped from the wall in her heart.

Mal leaned back into her for just a moment; snuck a kiss to her cheek. "I love you."

"Love you too, sweet one."

"I think it’s all gonna work out, Chris." Sleep-scruffed braids nudged against Christen’s cheek. "But even if it doesn’t, we’re proud of you."

Stacy beamed. "Couldn’t have said it better myself. Now peel, child."

Hope was bursting onto the scene.

And around Christen’s heart, light was streaming through the gap.

* * *

"Mom, you know what I forgot to tell you? You’re gonna love it."

"What’s that, baby?"

"Tobin is an _artist."_

* * *

**11/10/16  
Friendly: USA v ROU (8-1)  
San Jose, CA  
Goals: Press, Heath, Brian, Press, Press, Morgan, Morgan, Own Goal**

Christen scored a hat trick _._

One was from a _nutmeg!_

And she couldn’t even find it in herself to care. Every goal, all she could do was eye the one person to never join the circle of celebration, desperate for the notice of a tawny brunette whose eyes stayed pinned to the ground as she trotted to the line instead. 

She went back to her and Mal’s room to finish the project she’d been tackling with singular focus ever since Palos Verdes.

She was going to fix this.

Well.

If it could be. There was still the very real possibility that she had thrown the greatest love of her life out the window and the pieces could never be put back together again.

 _God_ , how she wanted it though.

Christen’s ribcage ached, still unfamiliar with venturing into this terrifying territory of _wanting_.

She named the familiar deluge of anxiety that came with it, allowed herself to feel the grip of it for three breaths, and then silently asked it to leave because she had work to do.

Then she amended her statement.

She was going to do everything she damn well possibly could to fix this.

* * *

**11/12/16  
Carson, CA**

Practice had ended but the bus was late; caught up with a flat or something. They’d been milling about for almost 20 minutes now and Christen had grown steadily more and more antsy about the item tucked in the bottom of her bag on the sideline. Also about the fact that as soon as her and Mal had drifted over to sit with the pack of women lounging about near their bags, Tobin had walked away with a ball to juggle.

She’d ruined so much.

"Chris, this is the last game of the year."

She’d been too distracted looking. Trying to get her throat to swallow.

" _Hm?"_

It was Mal, leaning — for once — against her more for the privacy than just easy affection it seemed. Her voice quiet. Careful. "Tomorrow. It’s the last game of the year. Maybe… I know you just finished it but tomorrow is the last game. And then _nothing._ Nothing till She Believes in March. That’s _months_ , Chris."

"Yeah, I know." Seriously, she’d been drinking water all practice but you wouldn’t know it by her esophagus.

"It’s never going to be perfect."

Christen bit her lip, that pit inside of her roiling with what felt like snakes. Like Indiana Jones in the Raiders of the Lost Ark level.

"…Channing and I went to Macchu Picchu once."

"And you say I’m hard to track with." Mal’s voice was teasing but her shoulder was unrelenting. The intent of it.

"We were hiking the Inca Trail and Machu Picchu is on the way down, right? And it takes days. So the night before we get there, we were at this restaurant in the last village. I was starving from all the hiking and I _destroyed_ my dinner. Like every piece in what was probably minutes. But then Channing comes to eat and within two bites, she’s like: 'Is everyone’s chicken undercooked?' I looked down at my plate and there wasn’t even enough left to tell."

Finally managed one swallow. Still felt like trying to get ice through a straw though.

"I started throwing up a few hours later. And then I threw up 55 times in 24 hours — I counted it, Mal. It was awful."

"Remind me to only get lessons from your mom in the kitchen."

Christen turned, shoulder glancing off so she could meet the girl at the eyes. They were warm on the surface but the depths were knowing.

"…This feels worse."

A little sigh. It didn’t read as disappointment. Just… assent, maybe? "It’s only gonna get harder, Christen."

"She might hate it."

"She might not."

"She might hate _me."_

 _"_ I repeat," but she left it hanging there, eyebrow raised.

"But if I don’t, _I’ll_ hate me … right?"

"Well, I’m not sure that’s quite what the response should be. But yeah, I imagine it’ll feel pretty sucky."

Christen felt her mouth twist. Mal’s eyes so fully present with her — waiting.

The serpents writhed.

"I’m gonna do it."

When she got those instant smiles she looked so much like a child. So easily shifting between the serious and the joy. Christen could probably learn something from that.

She nodded again. More for herself. "I’m gonna do it."

She stood up, brushing her hands off on her shorts, crumb rubber leaving divots in her palms. ( _Maybe one day they’ll actually give us real grass like the men.)_ Mal slapped her on the butt and Christen jumped. That was such a Stacy move! 5 days and the girl had already become a little carbon-copy. (Though Chris kind of loved it, honestly.)

"No more waiting. You’ve got this."

Christen tried to ignore the turning head or two as she leaned down to kiss the girl swiftly on the forehead, made a beeline for her bag, dug until she could pull it out, and with one deep and — well, frankly, terrified breath, she managed the twenty or so paces between her and the midfielder with the ball currently balanced on her forehead, crouched down trying to keep it steady.

"…Hey, Tobin."

She flinched and the ball dropped. Christen’s stomach turned all over again.

The woman straightened, revealing eyes dull in a guardedness Chris wanted to cry at. Or just throw up. That was a strong possibility in this moment.

"Uh… Hey, Chris."

"I… I wanted to know if we could talk."

 _Why did the bus have to be late?!_ "Yeah, I guess." She tightened her ponytail — wished her shorts had pockets. Something to shove her restless hands in. "What about?"

"I…" green glanced down and Tobin noticed the odd book in her hands. It looked sort of like a sideways photo album, but far too thick. Messy.

"I wanted to give you something first. I think it’ll help me explain things. Sort of h— well, um, maybe just take it first." Her hands pushed out in a jerky reach, lip tucked in her mouth like it always did when she (— _stop that, Tobin.)_

With a closer look, it seemed more like a little sketchbook; its pages ruffled and not lying quite flat.

Christen’s hand was at the back of her neck, eyes glued to the loose grasp of Tobin’s hands. "I tried drawing but I wasn’t good enough. It didn’t — well… so, I’ve been doing collage instead."

Tobin flipped it open. The first 15 or so pages looked to be vibrant and layered clippings, glued in over top of one another to form landscapes of different themes. The first one was flags of different nations — teams they’d played in the last year she realized with a creeping awareness at the hair of her arms — and numbers pasted around in uncertain clouds. She flipped. The next was hands. Hands clasping, hands reaching. Some fisted in anxiety, others at simple tasks. It was against a pastel drawn backdrop of oranges and pinks. Across the spiral binding was a page of things they’d talked about. Books, and movies, and what looked like an actual printed photo of the beach near the Press home, and — she flipped faster through the rest. Page after page. Glimpses of a bar scene with pastes of people dancing. A photo of a younger Christen with some teammates, an almost barbed wire of paper cuttings obscuring it. A night-scape of Rio with alternating stripes of blue and yellow cellophane radiating from the angles like competing filters and —

She didn’t flip any further.

"What is this Christen?"

"It’s…" Christen so rarely fidgeted. It was strange. "…us. It’s made up of all the moments from the last year. Good and bad."

"Why are you giving this to me?"

"Tobin, I… You were right. I was in the wrong. I was pushing you away for reasons that were entirely about me and not at all about you. I miss being your friend, Tobin. I miss being in your life." She looked down briefly. Back up with a shame-red apple to her cheeks. "This was a way for me to… sort of define the — the colors of the last year? All the ways you pushed into the margins of my life." A hesitation — "The ways I did back. Good … and bad too. It’s —" her hand was on the back of her neck again. "It’s a little silly, I guess. It’s not great or anything. But it — it captured what I needed to be honest about. And to say. Most importantly, the really big apology I have to make to you. Here is probably not the best, but I thought, if you’re ok with it, maybe we could go grab some—"

Tobin’s back was crawling in anxiety and …

This couldn’t be. This was — there was no way, and she’d been here before. Been hurt here before. The hairpin-trigger of it was a whip.

"Who told you to do this? Was it Allie? Becky? Christen, it’s fine. I’m a big girl and I know you wanted to get back to 'normal' and I know I’ve been avoiding you — I’m" Christen was opening her mouth, eyes wide and contrite but Tobin didn’t want more words — couldn’t take more words, she was " _trying_ ok? But this… this acting like we’re still _close —_ like I mean something to you — it isn’t kind, Chris, it’s cruel. So tell whoever forced you to do this for the sake of team unity that I’m fine, and I’ll still pass you the ball." Tobin rolled her eyes and, with a resounding snap, shoved the little book back, stomach like a stone in her middle.

 _Shit._ This really wasn’t going according to plan. They were supposed to go somewhere else. Christen was supposed to be able to make the apology and explain and Tobin could share her thoughts and be mad then if she wanted to and Christen could —

But, you know what? Wasn’t this all about a new way of interacting anyway?

_Fuck it._

She scrapped the plan and ran with her instinct instead.

As Tobin stalked towards the sideline for the dropped ball, she felt a hand grab the back of her practice jersey and begin dragging her towards the team bags.

Christen marched up to the crowd — Tobin in tow — with a face like a blade. "Hey!" but everyone was unmoving in their chatter.

"HEY" Christen bellowed as she kicked a ball into the midst of the crowd. Heads turned quickly at that.

“I need verbal answers: Is anyone here forcing me to do anything?”

Tobin watched as the girls shared some quick-fire glances, several seemingly far too aware — and a few on the edge of gleeful.

“Pretty sure no,” Julie answered.  
“I certainly know better than to try,” Kelley grinned.  
“A superpower I wish I possessed,” Becky muttered.  
“Not this time, Pookie,” Allie warned.  
“I don’t even know you that well,” from the new kid Sonnett.

Christen rounded to face Tobin, every aspect of her thundering with the energy of a summer storm— and something else, something yearning under the electric of her eyes.

"Tobin Powell Heath. Let me be more clear." Her shoulders shoved back strong and unyielding as they occupied space. "I have wanted you since before I even knew that I could want someone anymore."

Tobin’s eyes popped wide.

"It was the locker room for Ireland. In January," Christen states plainly. "You were doing some dance with Allie, laughing and walking around in your sports bra. And we’ve all seen each other half-naked a thousand times. It was nothing new, but that day I couldn’t think. Could barely _breathe_. And all of a sudden Alex was over there and she was hugging you like she was allowed to even though you almost never let anyone. _Alex_ , Tobin."

( _"A-lex, how could you!" Kelley teased. "Shush, I’m watching something here."_ )

Christen scowled in a way that starts a smolder low in Tobin’s pelvis.

"I could probably have written my reaction off. A fluke or something. Sticking up for a friend. But then she must have said something because you stood and bent over to roll up your socks. And it was strange because you always wear them so low and I was just … so _irrationally_ upset that you were doing it for her — for anyone! I couldn’t look away, Tobin … And then, suddenly, I understood. Because the more I let myself look at you, the more I realized that it didn’t have anything to do with her at all. And the more I looked at you, the more I realized that there was nothing I wanted more in the world than to go over and push them back down myself just so I could watch you do it all over again." 

She took a small step closer that Tobin would almost have called hesitant if it didn’t carry the irrepressible air of a tiger in a just-unlocked cage — eyeing the freedom of the wild for the first time in years.

"I didn’t know what to call it at the time. Had no idea how much that desire meant — how far that would extend into _every_ part of who I am. I was too scared. Too messed up to admit it, even to myself. But what I did know was that I wanted to be close to you. I knew I needed you in my life."

Kelley was grinning widely, slapping Crystal repeatedly on the shoulder who looked like she needed popcorn in her hands.

One more step, like a paw just beyond the iron. "I want to watch you put on your clothes and know I’m allowed to, Tobin. I want to go to sleep beside you and wake up with you still there. I want to go to church with you when you’re sad. I want to water the plants you forget about so our house is always green. I want to kiss you until we fall in love. I want—"

"It’s too late!"

Instantly the tiger was just a woman again. Just Christen — voice a dry and desperate croak. "What do you mean _it’s too late_?! Tobin, we haven’t even _started_."

She took another step — this one tinged: colored by panic and dread. Hands raised palm up. "I know I messed things up in Rio. I know I freaked out. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I want to apologize a thousand times to you. I _will_ apologize a thousand times to you. And — fuck, I meant to make this so much softer and you don’t owe me anything and I swear I’ll explain but — I — I’m prepared to fight for this. For us. Tobin, I want this more than _winning_ — I want this like my heart is in your hands — I want—"

"No, it’s too _late_ , Christen," and here Tobin took a shuddering breath, a glistening amber raising shakily yet sure to meet green. "Because I already love you."

Christen’s mouth gaped.

"What?!"

(Faintly in the background she could hear Becky muttering; "Idiots.")

"Christen. I love you. I’ve loved you so much longer than I dared to admit. But I can now. I _will_ now. Not because you deserve it," a visibly difficult swallow. "You fucked up, Chris. You hurt me" her breath shuddered, "s-so badly. But I — I’d rather it be something we work through together than a reason we’re apart." Her shoulders straightened, instinctually matching the woman’s shocking boldness from earlier. Grasping at it. "I want that. I want working through our problems together this time. I want being honest even when it terrifies us. I want the future, Christen. I want the house and the plants. I want the late night ice cream runs. I want you forcing me to do yoga. I want teasing Mal when she gets a boyfriend together. I want —"

"—Or girlfriend."

Tobin stopped on a dime, mid-sentence syllables cut off so quickly it felt like dropped cell service.

She spun to the fast-blushing girl.

"What?"

"You said boyfriend." Mal tugged on the end of her braid — glanced a bit anxiously at the crowd of watching women. Shrugged a shoulder. "I’m just saying … it could be a girlfriend too."

Tobin’s eyes widened —

Then she marched right over, falling into a kneel to wrap the girl tight in her arms.

"Thank you for telling us, Mal. I — I’m so proud of you. You deserve the best. Boy or girl." She laughed outright, pulling back to look her clear in the eyes. "Whoever it is, they’re gonna have so many shovel talks they could open their own hardware store."

Resounding from every direction came loud and laughed and occasionally wetly-sniffed affirmations of that fact.

( _A tall blonde swallowed hard.)_

She rubbed a thumb along the smiling cheek, the girl’s eyes going damp at the corners.

Softly. Just for them. "You good?"

Mal swallowed the emotion in her throat, joy gleaming through the shimmer of her gaze. "Yeah." She glanced to the side. Christen’s hand was clenched over her sternum like she was trying to keep her heart from jumping ship and stowing away right into Mallory’s own chest. Such love in it. Mal smiled back, then returned to that warm and safe burnt-sugar brown. "You can go get your girl now."

A kiss to her forehead. Whispered: "Thank you, baby."

Tobin stood with a spin; walked a few steps closer to that impossible radiance of a beaming woman.

She wanted to walk only towards this woman for the rest of her life.

"Christen Annemarie Press. I want" she chuckled and wiped at her eyes "teasing Mal when she starts dating _whoever_ the hell her heart chooses together. I want every holiday to be one I spend next to you. I want" her eyes sparked with something incendiary "never having to wonder if I’m selfish for touching you or not. I want to know what makes you laugh and—" Christen was striding towards her but Tobin pressed on — "what makes you cry. I want your secrets. I want your shame. I want every easy and every complicated part of you. I want—"

Suddenly her mouth was very occupied.

She pulled back with a sweat-and-rose-filled inhale, the hands at the back of her neck curbing any retreat of more than a few inches. "I’ve even been painting you something too, Chris. I was going to give it to you when things felt a little better. Beg you to give us a chance—"

Another plundering kiss so impassioned she had to stumble back to support the weight against her.

Tobin surfaced for air again. "I didn’t expect you to come in with this speech. I thought you were still hurting. Still hiding. I thought _I_ was going to have to make the speech."

Lips were seizing the momentary address to steal all over her cheeks. Her jaw. "Tobin, shut up."

Tobin doesn’t shut up. Instead, she lets a matching hint of play sneak into the earnest: "I’m sorry I cut you short — it was really lovely. You can say it again if you want to, I won’t interrupt this time."

Christen tried to kiss those laughing lips again — could feel the midfielder’s grin bumping pearly incisors against her own even if she wouldn’t pull back enough to see it.

"I think you were at…" Tobin’s head tipped back to smile demurely, fingers thwarting the chin trying to reclaim her mouth with a growl—

" _…’kiss until we fall in love_ ’."

Just above her fingers, a gasp that managed to be both exasperated and rapturous at the same time — Tobin loved it.

"Tobin Heath, if you don’t let me kis—"

Her legs were hoisted around Tobin’s midsection before she even realized, the woman walking her back against the side of the stadium. Christen’s hips vaulted without permission — looking for just a little more pressure on the seam of her shorts — as her hands shoved messily in the brunette’s sweat-wild hair. Tobin’s hips slammed into hers in return, pinning her easily against the metal sheeting, bodies a mess of contact in the most delicious places.

"Mm… Tobs," she panted as a mouth attached to her neck. Smirked with a full-hand scratch under the brunette’s ponytail."Tobin …" a particularly hard suck that she knew would probably leave a mark, "baby, your lips are chapped."

Tobin just ran a hand up and under her thigh, swallowing the complaint with a drag of her nails down the length of it and Christen’s smirk turned to moan.

Somewhere a throat cleared.

"…This is better than cable."

"Seriously, where is my popcorn?"

Mal blushed with a giggle, turning around to press her forehead into a suddenly adjacent shoulder ( _"Ewww, Lindsey, they’re like my moms"_ ).

Kelley’s arm was grasping the shoulders of the new kid with a dramatic sniff; "It’s so beautiful!" Emily just gulped and lifted her chin to stare somewhere in the bleachers above the two women’s heads. "…They know that we’re all still here right?"

"You got something against love, Sonny?!— Can I call you Sonny? —Because I can introduce you to it if you like," she winked jauntily.

"Uhhhh…"

"Leave the rookie alone, Kell," from an over-tired Becky.

Kelley just tightened her arm around the defender’s neck, pulling her into a slight stoop. "Aw, Becky, let me have my fun! You never know," she rubbed a fist on Emily’s head, "this could be the love of my life!"

"KELL."

"Alright, alright," she released the blonde, only to smack a kiss to her pinking cheek. "See you around, Georgia Peach!" She pivoted with her hands on her hips, a freckled bull ready for its next stop on the china shop crawl. "Alex, I’m hungry and we need to carb-load. Let’s go so you can buy me fries."

Alex’s eyes rolled and she shook her rental keys. "Two steps ahead of you, dimwit. But why am I buying?! You always promise you’ll get the next one and then you never do!"

"How _dare_ you accuse me of something I’ve definitely done on at least three separate occasions?!" and they walked off grousing the whole way.

Two down, 20 to go. And the timely arrival of a bus in the parking lot. _Oh sweet lord, thank you._

"Come on ladies, time to leave." Becky began to usher the little crowd away from the still-macking pair.

"But do you think someone should stay here to make sure they breathe?" From an over-interested looking Klingenberg.

"Pretty sure you’d just tell them to keep going, perform this whole dance right here on the field."

"Well, they are so nice to look at…" Ashlyn mumbled as Ali grabbed her wrist in a march to the bus.

"Come on, no loitering." Becky shepherds the pack of aimless and staring soccer stars. "You’ll see them tomorrow at breakfast."

Mal squeaked in a sudden realization.

" _Breakfast?"_

"Yeah, no way you’re sleeping in your own room tonight, Pugh."

Mal’s palms dragged at her cheeks in a surprisingly accurate impression of The Scream.

"Come on, drama queen, you can stay with me. I’ll teach you how to hotwire a car."

Her head snapped up instantly — "Wait, really?!"

"NO, not really. Christ, what sort of villain do you think I am?" A head craning to see whether her two friends had left or not. Looks like yes. She smirked "… I will teach you the best way to prank Kelley though."

And with a squeeze and a chuckle, Mal let Allie’s arm lead her all the way back to a blonde and a bus.

* * *

**11/13/16  
Last Friendly of 2016: USA v ROU (5-0)  
Carson, CA  
Goals: Dunn, Press (off an assist from Heath), Brian, Mewis, Own Goal**

Tobin woke up in Christen’s bed.

Hm?

Oh. Yeah, I guess if you want to know.

And they won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily: What do you think?  
> Kelley: *chokes*  
> Lindsey: Oh my god! That dress looks so great on you.  
> Lindsey: …and I bet it would look even better on Kelley’s floor.  
> Kelley:  
> Emily: Are you hitting on Kelley… for me?  
> Lindsey: Someone has to. 
> 
> Originally, this is where I thought the story would end. I had it all charted out and everything.
> 
> By the chapter count you can tell that is no longer true. 
> 
> Lolz. 
> 
> What can you do?


	11. Further Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What the hell is this, Channing?"
> 
> "Well, I guess technically it’s more a present for Tobin than for you."
> 
> "You let me open this in front of Mal?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashlyn: [standing on a chair in the middle of the living room]  
> Ali: Why are you standing on a chair?  
> Ashlyn: I live here. I can do what I want. I can stand where I want, whenever I want, and without any reason thank you very much.  
> Ali: …Where is the spider?  
> Ashlyn: Under the table.
> 
> Chapter warning: Smut... like, immediately. #nsfw  
> Trigger Warning: surface level discussion of self-harm

"We can’t. Not while Mal is across the hall."

"We could make it like old times though."

"Oh really… you wanna hold me while I touch myself, baby?" A lurid smirk and an attempt at a wink. But the finger that traced down the bridge of Tobin’s nose right after was surprisingly soft - almost curious. Tobin let it finish its slow path before grasping lightly and bringing it to her lips for a kiss. The quiet click of it right there at the tip. Once. Twice.

"Actually, I was wondering… can I watch?"

"Haven’t you always?"

"No, like… can I see. While you do?"

Christen’s stomach crashed into her pelvis with a thrumming weight. Her lips were on Tobin’s instantly. "Yes. Yes, you can. God, Tobin…" they were slick and swollen already from the half hour of making out on her childhood bed. And chapped. Christen blushed into a grin. "Anything. As long as you’re there. I’ve missed you so much and I’ve tried to— well … it’s not the same without you there. It doesn’t feel the same."

"You can’t…?"

"No, I can. But it takes so much longer." She’d only tried a few times. Still growing into the practice of it. Into the sense of safety she needed for it when alone. "And when it comes it doesn’t last. Not like it could. Like it did."

Tobin’s lips had traveled to her neck now. "Let me help you." A hum and a suck. "Let me watch."

"Here, or…?"

Tobin glanced up from the collarbone she had just entrenched between her teeth. She could lay below on the bed but she wanted to be able to see Christen’s face and her… well. She wanted to see all of her at the same time. Then she spied it.

"Actually…" she rolled sideways a little; let her legs slip off the bed first so she could stand, hand reached out to grasp a darker one in her own. As the woman looked up with hooded but confused eyes, Tobin tugged lightly.

She slid off as well, standing with her hips just brushing against Tobin’s. "Where do you—"

But Tobin’s hands were on her hips, guiding her forwards as Tobin stepped backwards, then adjusting them on the angle so she could walk until Chris’s legs were backing towards the chair in the corner. Stacy had rescued it from some garage sale as a reading chair for Chris back in 8th grade. It was perfect for curling up and sinking into, though, for years it had seemed to exist only to toss her dirty clothes on. But it had been a decade now since her main wardrobe was here and instead it sat blissfully empty.

"I want you here. So I can …" Tobin lightly pushed at Christen’s shoulders until she had sunk back into the large and deep wingback hold of it.Then pulled at her knees until Chris was sitting near the edge, shoulders and head pressed against the back.

Then Tobin sank to the floor.

_OH._

Tobin edged Christen’s knees out and scooted in between. Kissed lightly against her knee. The light from the bedside lamp cast everything in warm and oranges and her skin glowed exactly like oiled kempas.

"Is this ok?"

Christen’s fingers were gripped into the arms, flexing, and Tobin tried to read every retracting pulse. Was it tension or restraint?

The sleep shorts bucked just a centimeter and Christen’s mouth clamped closed around a whimper.

 _Ah._ Restraint then. Tobin smiled.

"Good." Then she reached her fingers to the lower hems of the shorts along the back of those flexing thighs. Tickled at the skin lightly. "Can I take these off?"

Christen just nodded, eyes shutting as her back rolled softly on an inhale.

Tobin slid her thumbs under the sides and tugged once, just enough for the message to be received.

Christen’s hips lofted by degrees and Tobin pulled the cotton forward in a quiet _swish_ of fabric scraping skin, a hem stretching to make it over strong hips, and then they were over her knees. Tobin lifted the legs one by one, kissing each shin as it rose to free delicate ankles from their trappings.

Tobin could feel the hum in the frame of her pelvis. Inside it too.

She looked up.

_Christ._

This woman was perfect.

Her body was wet and open and perfect, dimmed but fully distinguishable in the citrus light.

Tobin slid her legs under the chair, folding just enough for balance as she tipped her head to the inside of Christen’s right knee.

"You’re perfect, Chris."

Christen’s hands just flexed again against the patterned upholstery, eyes slipping open into a squinted slow blink of cognizance."When you’re watching… it’s like… it’s like I can feel every cell in my body."

Tobin let her mouth slip open against the angled thigh, teeth scraping at the skin in the middle. Let her tongue smooth it.

"Just to repeat. I won’t touch you there. I know we’re still working up to that. But … if it’s ok… can I touch—"

"Anywhere else, Tobin. Fuck," the back arched a centimeter further this time "anywhere you want."

Tobin let her hands slip around the back of Christen’s calves, fingers nudging into the crease behind her knees — her mouth kept moving against the thigh, red drags starting to appear on the inner curve and she sucked at one in approval. Christen’s hips pushed just slightly forward, widening her stance.

"Ok." It sounded wet, accompanied by the slick of a tongue against skin. "You too. Just do what you want. Do what feels good."

Her right hand slipped off the arm of the chair — slid through the temples of Tobin’s hair and scratched lightly as her eyes slipped shut again — just feeling as Tobin mouthed — Christen pulled the teeth stronger against the flex of her adductor. "Don’t stop."

A puff of air that she could feel. Feel against the shine of her thigh where the mouth had been. "I won’t." Then warmth and wet again.

Christen sighed, fingers scratching deeper into the ponytail. Her other hand pulled at the length of the opposite thigh. One long drag of her nails up the inside. Then it snuck under the hem of her sleep shirt. She let it rest there for a moment. Just experiencing the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathed. As she kept her eyes closed and felt.

Then up.

Tobin had told her once to let one finger — just the top of it — trace the bottom line of your breast. Let your body light up in the discovery of that place where one sensation shifts into the next and it fizzles in the energy of you walking its border.

It had quickly become a favorite sensation in the last month. To imagine Tobin tracing it. A finger. Maybe a tongue.

Christen let herself trace it now —

 _Yeah, still good._ She swallowed hard.

The weave of her sleep shirt felt coarse and perfect as her nipples hardened.

She pulled at one —

But it was too much too soon. Too rough.

Her eyes flickered open.

"Tobin?"

"Hm?" a mouth at her other thigh now, fingers massaging gently into the tight of her calves.

When Christen didn’t answer, Tobin looked up, forehead tilted into a knee.

"Yeah?"

Christen pulled her hand out of the tawny hair. Ran a thumb against the fullness of the lower lip.

Then she held out two fingers palm-side up.

Tobin’s stomach flipped and the electricity of it caused her fingers to clench, slipping slightly at the faint damp behind Christen’s knees.

She leaned forward and took the two long digits into her mouth, eyes fixed on Christen’s watching and wanting green. Swirled her tongue around them until they were good and wet. Then pulled back with an unintentional but oh so obscene-sounding slurp.

"Thank you, baby."

Then Christen snuck her hand back under the cotton and back around the straining nub —

Yeah, that was just right.

Tobin moaned. Let her mouth reattach an inch closer to that pink center. Let her hands push rough up the outside of thighs, grasp around hips at the top, finger-press into the topmost swell of Christen’s ass and tow her closer to the edge of the chair.

Christen pulled at the nipple again and moaned. "I think about you doing this. I think about your hands. Your mouth. Even about you…" a gasp that had Tobin sweating, "sitting on top of me, rubbing against them. Sometimes doing this is enough. Not to come, but just to… to feel and feel near to you."

Nails dug into her ass and she squeaked.

They rubbed now, almost apologetic. "We can definitely try that sometime." It was breathy and Christen couldn’t help but smirk a little. Sigh a little as the fingers dragged a bit lower - massaged deeper.

"I still haven’t tasted you. I think about that too. About you on me, my chest against you. And then you suck it off and when you come to kiss me after," her back stretched as her fingers tugged a bit harder at the next peak, "it’s all mixed in."

Tobin shifted on the floor, a combination of her legs falling asleep and an extreme desire to make that scene happen ASAP.

The two fingers dropped down again, the backs of her nails against Tobin’s lips.

"Mind?"

But Tobin pulled back instead. Christen’s head tipped as she watched, Tobin lifting her hips up with a strong stance of her hands against the floor. Sliding her knees out from under the chair and bending them under her instead with a slight wince at the pinprick tingle. Then leaning forward between Christen’s legs as her elbows sat heavy against the tops of the chair arms, hands coming in to lift at the hem of Christen’s high school tournament shirt.

"Let me."

Then she pulled the shirt just a bit higher and put her head under, let her arms wrap around Christen’s waist instead as her elbows fell to the seat of the chair, head lofting between cotton and skin until —

Hot and wet lips attached to her right breast. Christen flinched and groaned.Mouthings and lick. "Quiet, Chris. Remember?"

Christen set a hand against the moving shape of Tobin’s head. Whispered. "Yes, Tobin. Just …" inhaled long and deep and sweet, "just please" and she pressed that bobbing head in deeper against the rise.

The temperature inside her shirt was increasing, hot and humid with every breath as Tobin now wrapped around a nipple and sucked.

As she—

 _Christ,_ that one was _HARD,_ and Christen couldn’t keep her hips from bucking. Tobin’s shirt stuck to her when she fell back again — she could feel it. Dark fabric caught in the wet of her and Christen knew there would be a spot, right there above Tobin’s abs. They’d have to make sure to change it before going down to breakfast in the morning.

The head moved to the next side, Tobin sort of gasping now but just as diligent. Her hands were under the shirt too, spread and pushing into the muscles of her back. Christen let her head tip back. Let it continue.

"SO much better than imagining it."

A muffled chuckle. A drag of teeth, then a licking soothe. A nose into the soft of her. "I concur."

A few more sucks later and she was pulling down and out, hair a hilarious and adorable muss that Christen instantly shoved her hands into. Let her fingers comb through the silk of as she pulled Tobin forward — as she lifted her legs up onto the chair arms for a better angle, calves pressed into the outside at the widening — into a kiss. Hot. Open mouthed. Mint and bubblegum and it made Christen laugh, tongue licking out at the inside of Tobin’s teeth. "Maybe I need to start using your toothpaste. Does it taste bad?"

Tobin laughed too, tongue slipping in to test the slick of Christen’s teeth; the sharp of them. "It’s not so bad when it’s on you."

As pink lips slipped to her throat instead, Christen giggled — then moaned at a hint of teeth — "Good. I really don’t know if I can handle how much it tastes like candy."

A hum Chris could feel directly through the thin of her throat. It tickled almost. She tipped her head further back for more.

"But that’s one of the best parts, Chris," every word spoken directly into her neck, lips like brail and it felt so _good._

 _"Candy kisses."_ What did that even mean? Christen didn’t know but she thought it was probably ok that her brain-to-mouth communication wasn’t operating at full power right now.

Suddenly, Tobin’s fingers were on top of the little tents in her shirt, pulling hard at each nipple with a delicious outward twist at the end and Christen couldn’t help the tightening of her nails in Tobin’s back.

"...Now time to make you feel good."

"You just wanna watch."

"That too."

Tobin smirked and dropped back down into a sit.

Christen left her legs spread over the arms of the chair.

"Wanna tell me how?"

"Maybe tomorrow. Right now I just wanna watch."

Christen hummed an acceptance, right hand slipping down to test the readiness.

Yeah, pretty fucking prepared. This was gonna be—

She jolted.

"Did you just tickle the bottom of my foot?!"

Tobin laughed, grasping one and tussling it lightly. "Sorry, just wanted to see how sensitive you were. It was instinct."

Christen grumbled, letting her eyes slip closed as her fingers returned down to touch again.

"Do it again and we’ll see if I let you watch."

A kiss on the ball of her right foot. A grin she could hear just by the click of opening lips. "Sorry. Won’t happen again."

She was definitely wet. The kind where it’s not just the inside of it all that’s wet — it’s dripping over folds and valleys until everything from your clit to your ass is a swimming pool and your thighs too.

It hadn’t been like this since they beat Romania. Since the last time she saw Tobin. Since she accepted Chris’s verbal and wept apology back in the hotel room.

And then Christen had been able to apologize four more times in that hotel room. Four more times before Tobin gasped that that was quite sufficient for one night.

She smirked.

"What’s that for?"

"Just remembering the last time we did this. How you let me do that thing with my —"

"Fuck, that was —"

"Yeah."

She kept touching. The pads of her fingers sticky. Dragging.

She opened her eyes. Tobin was criss-cross under the chair it seemed, arms wrapped and bent around the outside to cup over Chris’s spread knees, calves hanging over her wrists to the sides. As Christen watched, Tobin let her chin rest just on the edge of the chair. Just inches from her knuckles and —

"You look so good, Chris. You’re so beautiful."

Chris could feel her hair rubbing against the back of the chair, knotting probably as she twisted against it, head knocking back in the feel of it.

Circles now. Two fingers.

"That’s it. Make it feel good."

She’d needed this. Needed Tobin’s voice. They could probably have done it on the phone but this was still all so new and they hadn’t quite made it to—

A hand had made it back to her front — was dragging slowly at a nipple — not with any force to it — more just the sensation of pulling. The suggestion of it.

"So so beautiful. I think I’ve got it in my head but then I see you in person and it just didn’t even come close."

The other nipple and Chris couldn’t help but gasp a little. Writhe a little. "Flatterer."

It was more breath than sound but Tobin chuckled all the same.

"Doesn’t count if it’s true."

"I think I’m getting close. It’s been a while. But I think this is it — I think —"

"Wait, hold on."

_What?_

Christen’s eyes furrowed first. Then opened. "Hm?"

But Tobin wasn’t looking at her. Her brown eyes were fixed on the core of her and Christen almost flinched as a hand reached out —

But it was just going for her wrist. Fingers lightly pressing into it as she pulled it those few inches forward — pulled those same two fingers forward but now they were drenched — lines of fluid stretched in the small gap between them, shining in the low light, pulling downwards towards breakage in the viscous tension and —

Tobin’s mouth closed around them in full and Christen’s jaw dropped.

_Christ, that was hot._

Tobin’s eyes were closed. Forehead creased by two small lines as her mouth sucked, tongue slipping between the two fingers, then pressing down all the way into the webbing, the slightest slurping sound as her lips couldn’t quite seal around the knuckles; she laved every bit of them clean. Christen’s center was _buzzing,_ she swore it. Thrumming in an awakened energy as she watched those lips push down to the knuckles one more time, tongue hidden but undeniably present as it pulled a figure eight around the two fingers — once — twice.

Tobin pulled off slowly, sucking as she went. When they were out of her mouth, she looked down at them. Stuck them in one more time for a last vacuuming drag of the lingering spit and slick.

Kissed just the tips of them.

Finally, brown tipped up into green.

A moment of shocked tension —

Then Tobin grinned.

"I’ve been dreaming about that for weeks."

_This girl._

Christen laughed. A sort of strangled one — amusement but the kind where your throat still can’t quite operate.

"Well fuck, now I’m gonna dream about you _doing that_ for weeks." She slid her hands into Tobin’s hair again. "Come here."

The kiss was almost sweet after such a filthy act. First, just a sincere press of lips. Then, even with tongue, a sort of polite exchange, just visiting each other’s mouths, hanging out in doorways rather than making themselves at home. But it was exactly what felt right.

She pulled away slightly. "Still not your taste, but this will do for now." Another peck. "I know you wanted to watch but… can you stay up here? Stay with me as I finish?"

Tobin smiled a dopey grin that had Christen’s temperature go three degrees warmer instantly. "Course. Whatever you want."

And as Christen slid her hand back down between the press of their bodies, Tobin did just that.

Kissed the pant of Christen’s open mouth.

Kissed the topmost meeting of her jaw as it clenched in the race towards the finish line.

Kissed the soft space right where chin met neck.

Sucked an earlobe into the dark of her mouth.

And as those lips stayed entrenched in the depths of her hair, mouthing behind Christen’s ear, a hand snuck up to twist one more time at a nipple already thrilling in the occasional and glancing scrape of Tobin’s chest against her own.

It was more than enough.

Christen’s back arched up into the twist, chasing Tobin’s hand as a warm chuckle sounded through the shell of her ear, and Christen was —

She was coming, coming like she hadn’t in over a month. Coming like her body was made for this moment. For this warm and low voice now just at the center of her ear, the "that’s it, Chris. Come on, Chris. Keep touching — make it last, baby. Don’t stop just yet—" circling and circling and circling as it started to swell one more time and her lungs felt like soccer balls before they’d been inflated — dense and compressed and made for more— "Tobin!" — "I’m here. Right here, Chris."

She collapsed down into the chair gasping.

Tobin smoothed her hands across her stomach. Pressed her own forehead into the back of the chair until Chris felt like she was bent double in a cave, Tobin’s smiling face above her, making the little space dark as light bounced off the wide-shoulders of her body and Christen just breathed. Tobin’s shoulders had caught her knees when she pressed forward, limbs bent back almost to her ears as she continued to gasp and heave. The bend of it had pressed Tobin’s stomach right up against the wet of her. It felt good.

Tobin rocked her ribs into the wet and Christen inhaled sharply. Pushed back again for one connecting thrust against the damp cotton. One of Tobin’s hands snuck down to trace against the naked of her thigh, up the shin now pressed against the back of the chair half-bracketing Tobin’s head ( _I am SO glad I do yoga)._ Then down into the depths of Christen’s hair.

"You." She pulled back slightly, ribcage dragging against Christen’s clit and she whined. "Are." A kiss to Christen’s forehead. "So." Both hands now, dragging down her sides as the retreat let Christen’s knees begin to fall forward again. "Hot." A bite at the inside of her thigh just inches from her center and — actually she was mouthing there again and Chris realized she could probably taste her. Practically every part of the inside of her legs was wet and shining in the returning glow of the desk lamp. A last suck and then Tobin had sunk back to her knees on the floor, hands guiding Christen’s legs down until her feet could meet the carpet for the first time in at least 8 minutes.

She felt boneless.

A giggle as Tobin squeezed that funny place right above your knees that can go so sensitive.

"You look blissed out."

"Well, FUCK, Tobin." She ran a hand through her own hair. Definitely tangled. "What did you expect?" She let out a matching dopey grin. Groaned as she pulled up from her slump in the chair, back stretching back into lengths and climb until she was upright again. She leaned forward to kiss her girlfriend. Taste that musk on the still-damp of her lips.

Then both thumbs at her temples. So much more tender than any moment they’d had yet. It was almost too much. Christen pressed her forehead into Tobin’s. Breathed for a moment.

"I missed you."

Hands placed over hers.

"I missed you too, Chris."

For a moment they just inhaled. And exhaled. Inhaled. And exhaled.

From somewhere in the hall an old clock began to chime.

Midnight.

Tobin pulled back just slightly. Smiled up at her.

"Merry Christmas, Christen."

_I love you._

"Merry Christmas, Tobin."

* * *

**12/25/16  
Palos Verdes, California  
Christmas Day**

"Hey baby, coffee?"

"Thanks, mom." Christen came further into the kitchen. Stacy was leaning against the sink with a mug in her hands, Mal perched knees first on a stool at the island.

"Hey, Chris!" she chirped with a bounce. "Or should I say _sleepyhead_. We’ve been up for like… hours!" The comment was accompanied with a full blown dramatic flop onto the stool adjacent. Then she popped back up with a grin.

_Goodness._

"Wow, did y’all just eat straight sugar for breakfast?"

Stacy chuckled at the good-natured tease. "No, this is all natural. Mal has been telling me all about" a sideways wink (Christen must have inherited her skills from her father), "a certain someone. How _kind_ she is. How _tall_. How _strong,_ " she sing-songed.

The girl flushed. "Chris knows all about that. She’s had to listen to me talk about it for like… a month in Chicago. Probably ready for me to leave, right?" 

Chris spun from her place at the coffee pot, leaving the fresh mug to circle the island. Laid a kiss into the girl’s hair. "Never." Then made her way towards the refrigerator. "But you should probably be talking about next year. Have you decided whether its going to be UCLA or signing yet? You’ve only got a few days left." She pulled the half and half out and shook the carton vigorously before pouring it in, nodding in satisfaction at the fake latte foam. Glanced over. "Mom, tell her that a scholarship is no small thing. She doesn’t have to hop right into making money."

Stacy hummed as she took a sip; eyed the two young women. "I think that’s up to her, baby."

"Yeah! See, Stacy gets it."

An eyeroll as she put the creamer back and shut the door. "I’m not saying it’s the wrong decision to sign, Mal. I just don’t want you to do it because you think you have to."

Elbows strong on the table, "I never said I think I have to!" and a sulk as she gestured in her lean.

Christen rolled on and Stacy realized they had had this conversation before. Multiple times likely. "We’ve set up accounts for you and they’re going strong. Your scholarship covers all room and board. Brianna is doing fine. Baby," a sigh and a sip, "I don’t get why you’re anxious about this."

"I’m not anxious!" The girl huffed. "I—" a twist in her mouth. Then she sank to sit fully on the stool. "Can we just…" shifted, "can we stop talking about it? Please?"

_Well, that’s new._

Christen had never heard Mal sound like that before — not with her. It was a plaintive little mix of despondent and avoidant and it instantly stuck a pin in Christen’s heart.

_Shit. I pushed too hard._

She came back around the island. Settled her coffee cup down. "I’m sorry, Mal. I know we’ve talked about this a lot and I really do just want you to do whatever is best for you. But we can stop talking about it." She grabbed the girl’s hand. Squeezed a little. "Ok?"

The girl’s lower lip disappeared in her mouth. She looked down. "Yeah. Thanks, Chris."

"It’s your decision, babylove. I trust you."

And with one last squeeze, she let go and picked up her coffee again. Switched courses — could feel Mal aching for it.

"Where is Tobin? She wasn’t there when I woke up."

"No, the question is why were you so tired in comparison, Chris?" It was Channing, walking in from the living room and Christen blushed, burying her face in her coffee. Channing winked at a grinning Stacy.

"Portland is on this timezone, Channing. That’s all it is."

"Doesn’t that mean you’re supposed to be up _earlier?_ "

But Christen was saved by the opening of a door, Tobin and Cody bustling in with bags on bags of something.

"Everything we need for a feast!" He was grinning, one arm held sideways at the weight of groceries, and the other cradling a frozen turkey. "Ladies, I hope you’re hungry."

Mal hopped off the stool as the man set the bags down and slipped the bird to the island. "Hey, Big Daddy" and she tucked her arms around him, head against his chest.

"Hey, Lil Mal. Sorry, I didn’t get to see you last night. Our team was on a volunteer shift at the shelter."

"Yeah, Stacy told me." She squeezed her arms around him a little tighter. "Just missed you."

The matriarch hummed. "You know, he’s been trying to get the girls to call him that for years. I think you’ve become his favorite person."

Channing rolled her eyes from a counter, feet stretched out trying to catch Chris in the rear. Missed and Christen stuck her tongue out before slurping at her dodge-shaken coffee sloping at the rim. "Well, it’s cute when Mal does it."

"Everything is cute when Mal does it," Tobin said simply as she settled her many bags on the counter. "Did we miss anything?"

"Just Christen waking up _incredibly_ late. Do _you_ know why she was so ti—"

"SO WHAT ARE WE MAKING FOR BRUNCH?" Christen cut in with a slap at her sister’s knee and Stacy and Channing giggled.

Tobin just swooped in to lay one sweet kiss to Christen’s pursed mouth. "Morning, Chris."

It softened.

"Morning, babe."

Nearby, Mal was finally released from the tall man’s arms with a grin and a chuck under the chin. She smiled. Spun. "Stacy said she was going to teach me how to make a frittata."

"That’s right, sweetheart. Let’s get the groceries we need, the girls can put the rest away, and then we are going to make the best frittata the Press family has ever seen."

Two hands massaging at her shoulders, a torso at her back, and then a low voice in Christen’s ear remembering words from the close of last night. Resurfacing them. "Merry Christmas, baby."

And a merry Christmas Eve. Fuck. She shivered at it.

Whispered; still at the ear. "Want to go on a walk to the beach after breakfast?"

"Yeah, let’s do it."

* * *

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Your mom is really nice."

They were sitting down on the sand near the pups, the day a cool but not terrible 65 degrees. Better than New Jersey, you could bet that.

A snort. "Stacy is somehow a flower and a bulldozer at the same time. Just as quick to flatten you as to brighten your day." A grin. "But yeah. She’s wonderful. I love her so much."

"I love watching her and Cody with Mal too."

Christen hummed with a smile. Tossed an offered stick from Khaleesi. "Yeah, they’ve been so great with her. Grandparents sort of. She needs that, you know?"

"Yeah." Morena trotted up now. Sniffed Tobin’s hand before sprinting to join her sibling by the surf.

"What’s your family up to today?"

She turned her eyes from the two romping dogs. "Hm?"

"I’m obviously happy you’re here with me. But is it weird not being home?"

"Uh… a little, I guess. But my last time home wasn’t…"

"Oh, shit. Right. I guess… Um, we haven’t really talked about that have we?"

Tobin shrugged.

"I just know your parents didn’t handle it so well."

"That’s one way of putting it."

Christen leaned back on her elbows. Waited for more.

Tobin cupped a handful of sand. Let it fall through the gaps in her fingers in a quiet waterfall. "It wasn’t even religious when it came down to it. Just good old-fashioned homophobia. My mom thought it would ruin my career." Another handful. "How stupid is that?"

Christen hummed. Delicate.

"I’m going to visit Perry in a few weeks and that’ll be good. I think we’re going to try to get Katie there too. But home itself is a bit hard right now." She glanced down with a small smile. "I’m really glad you invited me. That Stacy and Cody did."

"Anytime, Toby. Anytime you want. My family has always been…" she searched for the words, "open. To literally everyone. We always had friends over, or neighbors, or co-workers. Anyone who didn’t have a home or someone to be a home. They were at ours. Whether holidays or just cookouts in the summer. It was really cool growing up. I mean, sometimes I was petty and just wanted my parent’s attention. But overall I really loved it. I had more family than a girl could imagine."

Tobin fell back onto the sand. Let her hand flex in the grains. "That’s what I want to be one day."

Lips snuck to her cheek, truly unexpected as the glare of the sun made her squint into the white.

"That’s already the person you are, Tobs. I have no doubt that any home you make will be one that is just as open."

She let her eyes slip shut. Let the surf roar. "I don’t always feel open. Sometimes I still feel so walled." She swallowed. Reached blindly for a hand — found it. "I know I called you that. And I know we’ve talked about why that was some. But it also was so hypocritical. I’ve had so many walls I hide behind."

Christen laid down fully too. Snuck her head onto her shoulder.

"I mean, I really let myself believe for years that relationships just weren’t working. Wouldn’t let myself ever really think about why." She let her left hand sneak over her body into Christen’s hair. Winced a bit when she remembered the sand stuck to it. But Christen didn’t seem to mind. "And cutting. All so I didn’t have to look too closely at my feelings. So I could make them something physical instead and not have to think about it."

"You’re still doing ok, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I really do think it’s done. But with everything, I’ve just been thinking about it more. Not doing it — but … what it meant. Why I did. That sort of thing."

Christen’s hand crossed her body now too. Drummed lightly against the jean hem over Tobin’s hip. A subtle recognition of past sensations.

"I didn’t tell you…"

The dogs were barking at something and Christen leaned up briefly to look. Just gulls. Looked down again at Tobin’s sun-squinted face. "Tell me what?" Moved her hand to Tobin’s closer hip instead. Rubbed lightly with the tips of her fingers.

"My mom. She… she said she’d known about it. That she always knew."

Furrowed brows. "About the…"

"Cutting. Yeah. Found stains in my sheets. I used to clean them in the middle of the night if the cuts were bad enough to leak through. Bleach them in my sink when everyone was asleep — sucked." A bite of her lip. "It would always get in the nicks on your hands." Then a hand wrestling through her hair, sand leaving little spots of spark and grit. "But I’m sure there were times I missed it."

Christen hated that image. Hated thinking of a 14 year old Tobin, waking up and going to school, so used to the pain of it that she didn’t even think to check if it meant they’d opened in the night.

"And she didn’t…"

"Do anything? No. Said she could tell it was helping my game. Helping me focus."

_Jesus Christ._

"Tobin, that’s… that’s really fucked up."

A hand over her eyes, cupped like it was for the glare. Though Christen wondered.

"Yeah, I know."

Where do you go from there? What the fuck do you say to that? Stacy would have _never —_

But she needed to do something. Say _something._

Christen swung a leg over Tobin’s reclining body. Let her weight settle into the dip of Tobin’s hipbones. When she leaned over, hands planted in the sand to either side of the woman’s head, Tobin’s eyes finally opened; able to in the sun-haloed shadow of Christen’s hair. Met the searching survey of the green.

"Children aren’t to be blamed for the ways they’ve figured out to survive," Christen murmured. Quoted.

Tobin was silent. But she reached up to gently grasp one curl. Pulled lightly.

"Your mother should have been better for you. And I’m so sorry she wasn’t. But…" another light tug and it sent lightning in muted shocks down Christen’s back. "I’m glad you survived, Tobin. And I love the woman you’ve become. You…" her hands had to readjust in the sand. Had to get a more solid hold. She adjusted her head to keep Tobin in the shade. "You grew up and you changed and you chose the sort of woman you wanted to be. And you did well."

A finger on her collarbone — not sexual, just sensual. Just reassuring.

Christen wanted Tobin to take whatever reassurance she needed.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Tobs. You did well." Made sure the amber-brown was on her. Receiving. "You did so well."

A hum. Then a nod.

Then a blinding wave of sand as Morena knocked bodily into Christen, ready to play. The girls sputtered as they tried to get the sand out of their mouths. Their hair.

Morena panted happily.

Tobin laughed, back of her hands rubbing at the grit resting on her eyelashes."Ok, let’s get some energy out of these ones."She pulled her legs out of the bridge of Christen’s body. Hopped to her feet and pulled the forward up too. Then pressed one strawberry-chapstick-sweet kiss, only a few remaining grains in it, to twisting lips. "I’m ok. Promise." Then one wide grin later, she faked a lunge at the dog — Morena hopping back on her haunches as they both froze in a position of imminent-pounce before — they sprinted towards the surf, Khaleesi tumbling into the mess like a slingshot ricochet.

Barking and laughing harmonized with the waves.

Chris let her stomach twist slightly.

But she also let her mouth smile.

If things went the way she dreamed they would, she’d have the rest of her life to talk to Tobin about this.

She’d have the rest of her life to show Tobin just how worthy of care she really was.

* * *

"No. Out. Rinse her now."

"Mom! She doesn’t even have that much sand on her! She barely even got in the water this time, promise."

"Not Khaleesi, baby. Tobin."

Christen looked back at the salt-soaked sand-spattered woman honestly striking the image of a captive in the train of her victorious and grinning canine opponents.

"Ok, yeah, that one makes sense actually."

A guiding hand at her wrist as Tobin bit her lip at Stacy’s stern ( _and laughing?_ ) eyebrow in the kitchen doorway, Morena and Khaleesi slipping in to the croon of "hi, babies, HI" from an out-of-view Channing.

A 65% successful wink. "Come on, babe. I’ll introduce you to the outdoor shower."

_Outdoor shower?_

15 minutes later Tobin had her answer. That one earned a definite 120%.

Hm?

Oh. Yeah. Christen helped it on the extra credit. 

* * *

"Big Daddy, do you have any stories about Christen? She always tells me about what a troublemaker Channing was—"

" _WHAT_ does she say?!"

Mal kept right on rolling "but she makes it seem like she was the good one."

"Oh, she does does she?" He smirked, eyes glancing towards the kitchen where Stacy and Christen’s voices could be heard laughing through.

Channing dropped her phone, coming over from the loveseat to settle on the other end of the couch, eyes bright and somewhat evil as she cackled at Cody’s considering face. "Oh, you have so much to learn. Dad, tell her the one about Mr. Cottney and the feral cat."

His eyebrows rose. "Oh, that’s a good one. I’d almost forgotten." He watched as the younger girl settled back against the bend of his daughter’s knees, smiling. Yeah, he had some stories to tell. This was gonna be fun. "So I had invited the manager of the bank for dinner and the girls _knew_ I was up for promotion—"

* * *

"Mom, this is _incredible."_

"Actually, Mallory made that dish."

Across the table, the young girl blushed at the glow of pride in Stacy’s eyes.

* * *

"Would you read the story of the nativity for us this year, Tobin?"

A surprised glance up. A misting of the eyes.

"Yeah." She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I’d love to."

* * *

"What the hell is this, Channing?"

"Well, I guess _tech_ nically it’s more a present for Tobin than for you."

"You let me open this in front of Mal?!"

The rustling of something moving back into a bag.

From the couch, Mallory giggled as Tobin’s hand finally uncovered her eyes.

It _had_ looked pretty nice.

* * *

"Chris?"

"Yeah?" sleepy. Almost gone with it.

"If we don’t have any games… would you want to spend Easter with me? You could… you could meet Perry?"

A closed-eye smile and a press of her lips to the closest skin she could reach.

"I would really love that, Tobin. Let’s do it."

"…Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe one day… things will be good and… and you can meet my mom."

Christen pulled the nearby waist close. Nuzzled into the breastbone.

"I really hope so, Tobin. I really do."

* * *

**12/26/16**

"What’s wrong, Mal?"

"Just Lindsey. She hasn’t texted me back since last night."

"It’s the holidays. I’m sure she’s just with her family."

"Yeah. I guess."

Tobin hummed; tussled the girl’s hair. "Seriously. Don’t worry about it. She was texting me like, last week asking if I thought you’d want more of a 'sleek and shiny' or 'sweet and sentimental' gift for Christmas."

The girl perked up a bit. Laughed. "What’d you say?"

"Well, I guess you’ll just have to see now _won’t_ you???" A tap on the nose like she’d seen Christen do a hundred times. Mal lit up at it, eyes squinched in humor.

"Tobin, tell meeeeee!"

"Nope!"

"Please?!"

"And spoil the surprise?!" A mock horror.

Stacy chuckled as she came in from the kitchen. "Christmas gifts?"

"Tobin has been giving Lindsey hints! I want to know!"

"Well, what did you get _her_?"

A sudden autumn blushed the apples of her cheeks. "Um…"

Tobin laughed. "All this and you haven’t even gotten her gift yet?"

Mal pouted at the chuckling women. "I won’t see her for weeks at least!"

Stacy squeezed her shoulder, the hint of humor still lingering in the corners of her mouth. "Oh baby, that won’t do. You get the gift now so that every time you look at it you think of her. And every time you talk it’s just one more reason she wants to see you again."

The girl’s eyes went a bit wider. Nodded.

Then she swung to Tobin. "Wait. Now I really need to know. Shiny or sweet?"

A squeeze at her knee. "Just do what feels right, Mal. She’ll love it. Promise."

Stacy smoothed her hand into the girl’s ponytail. "Want to go to the mall? See if you’re inspired?"

A shyness to the lip in her mouth. A warm hope in her eyes. "You’d take me?"

"Yeah, sweetheart. I’d love to."

A nod. Then a growing smile. "Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it." A remembrance. "Um, Tobin?"

"Nah, girl. You two have it on lockdown. And someone has to keep Chris in line here."

A giggle. A kiss to her cheek. Then the girl was up and standing, hands on her hips. "Ok, I’m ready."

Stacy just chuckled. Glanced down.

_Ah. The new footie-pajamas. Right._

"I’m gonna change and _then_ I’ll be ready."

* * *

"Where’s Mal?"

"Mall with your mom." A smirk. "Buying a present for Lindsey."

That bell of a laugh. "Oh, _perfect."_ A quick kiss. "And so flippin’ cute."

* * *

"Gotta say, I’d never thought about going lez but Tobin certainly pulls off big dick energy with those snapbacks and swagger."

"Jesus, Channing."

_Jesus indeed. They grew up in this house. Channing had to know sound traveled._

_Though… it’d maybe be flattering if Christen’s_ dad _wasn’t next to her, head falling with a groan into his hands._

"I mean, a snap and a strap? I’d turn. Seriously though, I gotta ask. Because Tobin can’t put one in you, does that mean _you_ actually wear the pants in the relationship?"

She could hear the shocked silence like a gong.

_Shit — yeah, that was —_

"Chris, I’m sorr—"

But Christen was already slicing from the living room through the kitchen, face a blaze of fire — and even worse — a wet sheen underneath the heat in her eyes and —

The door was open and slammed in an instant, shuddering in its frame.

Then the sound of a body hitting a couch from the other room. A quiet " _fuck_."

She moved towards the still trembling door, screen about to slam from the outsi—

"Tobin—" Cody’s heavy hand was on her shoulder, keeping her back.

It was more advice than restraint but Tobin wanted to fight it all the same.Stepped forward again—

"Just give her a little bit. She just needs a bit of space to think. Cool down."

Tobin was frozen. Still facing the door. She could feel the masculine presence moving back around the island. Watching.

But Chris was—

"…Tobin."

"I hate that she does this."

Then instant regret. _Shit. Shit, this was Christen’s FATHER._

"I mean — Christ, I’m sorry. That wasn’t — I _love_ her. I just—"

Easy. Level. "Tobin, you don’t have to explain yourself. You don’t have to love everything about someone to love them as a whole."

Her back was still turned. She let her mouth twist. Cheek ravaged in the grip of her teeth. She could feel his eyes as heavy as hands. "…The last time she did this to me she didn’t come back."

"You’re here now." A pause. A continuation. "Aren’t you?"

 _It’s not that simple._ She turned. Let herself do this. Own this.

"Yeah. But it took months."

"She changed a lot in those months, Tobin."

He said it too softly for it to feel like arguing. He said it like he’d hurt as much as she did. 

"Yeah. I know."

"She’s just mad at her sister. She’ll be back and they’ll be joking with each other by dinner."

_You know that’s not what we’re talking about._

"They’re family, Cody." Breathed. Her hands hung limp and useless at her sides, inert but for a helpless ask in the tiny spread of her fingers. "What about the next time she’s mad at _me?"_

He sighed. _"_ Christen told me you’ve talked about it some. About her conversation with Stacy and Kelley. But I don’t know if you can really grasp it fully yet." He fiddled with the beer in his hand. Hers lay abandoned on the counter. "Tobin, to you it was about the last year. But for us it’s been… a decade practically."

"And that’s supposed to make me feel better?"

 _Too sharp._ She was being way too raw in this. Too raw for a man who was Christen’s family. But dammit if they didn’t make her feel safe. Make her want to talk.

"No. That’s not — I’m not saying that to mean it’s even more entrenched than you thought. Though," he shrugged, owning what she’d suspected, "it was." Breathed deeply. "I’m saying it because she finally got something we have been dreaming for her for _years."_

There was a shadow to him Tobin had felt as well. But only for a few months. To love her like this for _years_ … to watch her lessen herself. Her life. It would have been… God, it would have been torture. 

"...Trying to bring up. Trying to help her see. And, Tobin, she finally _heard."_ Open hands now. Beseeching. _"_ And Christen is nothing if not a quick learner. Once that breakthrough comes … she’s not going back. There will be moments when she slips up, sure. We all do. But she’s never really going to go back to that woman from before. She understands the cost of it now. She couldn’t go back if she tried."

She was smart. She was _so_ smart. But smart and brave had never been the same thing. "But how do you _know_?"

He could write novels with his facial expressions alone. "I’ve known that girl every day of her life. I watched her learn to walk. To read. To play soccer. To do calculus. To navigate years of no call-ups and still have the grit to play." His face held nothing but peace. Total belief. "I know my daughter, Tobin."

He looked at her and it almost hurt. Felt _too_ seeing.

It made her miss her dad. It made her miss a dad she hadn’t even known. A dad that could have been.

Christen got a dad like this. A dad who _saw._

She wanted Perry.

"You know why I think it clicked this time?" He was still looking. Still _seeing_. "I think she finally had something she knew was worth fighting back the fear. Tobin, she finally had y—"

The kitchen door slammed open, an avenging angel haloed in beach air and purpose, huffing through her nose at the doorway. She breathed deeply, Tobin and Cody frozen at the island as they watched.

Then with a straightening of her spine and a twist-then-smooth of her mouth, she nodded once and walked straight through into the living room.

"Channing, I’m s—" "Chris. I didn’t me—"

Two sudden suspensions of words midair. Tobin could imagine them hanging there like mobiles. Spinning.

Christen reentered the moment first. "I’m sorry for walking out. I just — that really hurt me, ok? I know you didn’t mean it, but it did."

"Chris, I’m _so_ sorry. I didn’t — I wasn’t thinking."

"Can I… Can I explain? Can we… can we go talk about it somewhere?"

"Yeah." A relieved gasp. "Yeah, of course."

Some shuffling. Tobin thought it sounded like a pressing of bodies. The scrape of fabrics against another. Then feet on the stairs.

Her head stayed turned to the wall.

Softer now. "She’s always come back when it mattered, Tobin. I know it felt different. I know it was horrible. She told me about what she said. It was wrong and it was cruel. But she didn’t understand yet. She thought it was better for her — for everyone — to hide. Protect herself." _But what about protecting me? What about me being ok? "_ But now that she sees? Now that she sees how much that was hurting her, hurting you, even more? She’s too smart, Tobin. And too loving. She won’t let it happen again."

Tobin stared through the wall. Nodded.

How much she wanted to believe that was true.

She knew this wasn’t what the Scripture was about, but it felt like it fit. She lifted it up in a quiet prayer as she went to grab her now lukewarm beer. Made excuses to go sit on the back porch.

She loved her.

But she was scared.

Creeping in more and more, ever since she’d gone back home after their reunion. Like rot on the inside of a towering tree.

She loved her and she was scared.

_"Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief."_

* * *

**12/27/16**

"She was a rescue dog, actually. They found her as a puppy in a recycling center in Oakland."

"Aw, baby. Were you lost? Where was your mama, Mo?" The girl was kneeling on the floor, nose pressed into the soft ears of a perfectly content pooch.

"It took her a bit to warm up, honestly. Scared of large noises. Large people. Cody terrified her every time he laughed. Sneezed even. The boom of it I think. But a month or so in she realized that this was a good place and then she was a completely different dog. Such a love bug."

Smacked kisses all over the tan and whiskered face. "Love bug, huh? Are you a love bug, baby?"

"She was such a wonderful puppy. Gave us something to rally around, you know? Though, I think she changed Chris most of all. She always said ' _Morena rescued me_.'"

A thoughtful hum. Another hide of her forehead in that incomprehensible-soft of the flopping ears.

"Chris hasn’t told me a lot about her past, honestly. But…" a nose nuzzling into the scruff of the dog now rolling to get her belly rubbed, "there’s been some tough stuff, hasn’t there?"

"Yeah, sweetie. I wish there wasn’t. But yes."

Mal let her cheek settle on the rise and fall of a furred ribcage as her hand smoothed the pink tummy. Stroked and scratched; a lofted leg kicked out at her hand and she giggled. Then quieted.

"…I think Chris rescued me."

A heavy lean against the back of a couch. A tenuous pause. "I think it can go both ways, baby. Love should always go both ways."

"How about that, Morena? Do you love me?" an elbow-propped lean and a scruff at the happy jowls. "Do you love me?"

She’d have seen the twist of the lips if she’d been looking. The bend of the brows. "…Christen loves you. You know that, right, Mal?"

Thumbs smoothing at the whiskers. A kiss right on the expanse between the cow-blink-brown of her eyes.

Mallory just hummed.

* * *

"Tobin?"

"Hm?"

The hammock rocked as Christen turned slightly, head settling into Tobin’s shoulder. "Remember when you beat us in the NCAA final?"

"…Yeah?"

"On the sideline… before we started… Kelley said she thought you were hot."

A sputtered outburst that almost tipped them over and Christen shrieked, laughing as she slung her limbs over the other woman in a desperate koala clench. Tobin tried to autocorrect into a less tumultuous swing, wide eyed at the still-giggling forward.

"She never told me that!!!"

* * *

"Sweetlove, would you mind grabbing the door?"

A pause.

"Mal?"

_Oh, me?!_

Mallory glanced up at Stacy in the kitchen doorway, hands sudsy from what must have been dishes from lunch. Then to Christen and Tobin across from her at the coffee table, both suddenly intent on the puzzle edges they’d been half-heartedly assembling. They’d really just been whispering ridiculous digs at each other’s alma maters in escalating absurdity while giggling … but now they were riveted.

"…Mal?"

_Wasn’t this Chris’s house? I don’t know anyone but Mrs. Kubric next door. But what Stacy wants—_

"Yes, ma’am."

She clambered to her feet, legs a little wobbly from the long sit on the floor. Made her way to the front door they so rarely used, bell ringing once more in a strange chime. It was like one of those old fashioned phones - the ones you dragged your fingers on to get the number.

"One second!" Shook out her still tingling feet and pulled her shorts down a little more respectably. Grabbed the handle and —

" _Lindsey?!"_

Arms were around her in an instant and Mal had to jerk her head back to avoid a nose-crushing collision against the chiseled shoulder. But then she let it sink into a warm and shampoo-scented neck. Pantene. The blonde hair pulled back in a wisping veil till blue eyes were revealed.

"Hey, Mal." A grin as wide as the Royal Gorge Bridge, elbows resting in a gentle bend around Mallory’s shoulders.

"What are you doing here?!" She glanced down noticing the bags for the first time. "You’re staying?!"

"Yeah. Chris and I have been texting for days now. I hated that I wasn’t going to see you till March. And Denver is only," her head tipped back in mock thought, then dipped down again in a laugh "oh, a 15 hour drive give-or-take."

"You _drove?"_

She nodded, smile still comfortably in place. "Yup. I’m taking my old car up to Portland anyway. New apartment was a bit out of the center so it was time." A thumb rubbed the jut of bone at the base of Mal’s neck. "Figured this was a worthwhile stop."The arms tightened again and Mal let her nose sneak into the hollow above a collarbone this time. "It’s so good to _see you."_

_So tall._

"Um. Wow. Let me — can I grab your bags?"

"Yeah, totally. I’ve got my suitcase but that one there is for you anyway."

Mal led the way in, blushing at the three proud smiles on the living room occupant’s faces. "Oh, Linds, fancy seeing you here."

"Ha ha, Tobin. I know you knew." She dropped her suitcase, arms raising as Tobin jumped up for her own hug.

"Good to see ya, kid."

Within seconds Stacy was replacing her, going right in for the matching squeeze. "I’ve heard so much about you, sweetie. Welcome."

"Thanks, Mrs. Press."

"Stacy, please. How was the drive? Can I get you anything? Water? Juice?"

"Water would be great, honestly. Ran out around Barstow."

Mrs. Press nodded and slipped into the kitchen.

"Hey, Chris."

The next round of hugs. "Hi, Lindsey. Glad you made it safely."

"It wasn’t so bad. Hit a motel in Cedar City." She glanced down. "Um, can I take this to…"

An obvious eyebrow. "To the _guest_ room? Yes. Tobin can show you."

A chuckle. "Come on, Linds."

"Chris," Mallory whined, cheeks pinking as the two other women disappeared up the stairs, one loud creak sounding when they hit the upper third of the steps. "We’re not there yet."

"And rightly so. You’re not even officially dating, Mal."

"We’ve shared a room at camp."

"Not beds."

Mal grumbled but snuck her arms around the older woman, head tucking in to the bend of arm and chest. Christen swayed a little back and forth. But the longer Mallory stayed there, the more still Chris became. The more aware. 

"…Mal? Is it ok that she’s here?"

A little nod, nose nudged into the soft spot just under the knot of her shoulder.

"Should I have checked? I thought you’d like it…"

"No, I do." Muffled.

"She was planning through the 2nd but we can shift it if you want."

A shake.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I’m glad she’s here. Promise."

A kiss to the ridge of her fishtail braid — a Channing special.

"Are you having a good time here, baby? It’s seemed like you are but—"

"I am." A little clearer now as she pulled her chin out. Leaned her forehead instead. "Your family is incredible."

She could hear the commotion of footsteps in the top hall. That creak of the top steps. "Is something going o—?"

But Mal had pulled away, smile prepared — and, granted, appearing pretty genuine — for the descending blonde. "Lindsey! Let me introduce you to the sweetest pups in the land. Their names are Morena and Khaleesi and they like to give kisses and—"

Christen watched as the chattering little one grabbed Lindsey’s hand, tugging her past the Christmas tree and through the sliding door into the back yard. Chris could see Stacy coming around the side to meet them, two glasses of water in hand as they all started chatting, big smiles and laughs echoing through.

"Everything ok, babe?"

An arm at her waist.

"Yeah." Christen looked a bit longer — shook the uncertainty off. "Yeah, all good. Should we?" she tipped her head to the door.

"Let me go grab Channing. We can get her new badminton set up."

A kiss. "Perfect."

* * *

_Tick._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allie: Meanwhile in a parallel universe where everything is narrated…  
> Kelley: …Tobin was thinking about Christen’s breasts.  
> Tobin: What?! No I wasn’t! …I really need y’all to stop doing that.  
> Christen: *smirks*
> 
> HI, HOPE YOU'RE EXCITED THAT THIS IS CONTINUING!! I AM :) 
> 
> Leave a comment: What do you think is going on with all our ladies? What do each of them need from one another?


	12. Re-learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nope." Popped and proud. "You’re not getting out of this one, sweetie. Sex Talk season is in!"
> 
> It must have resounded a little more than she knew because —
> 
> "OH MY GOD." Christen rushed in from the living room scanning every face in a panic. "Mom… what are you doing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley: You really shouldn’t bottle up negative emotions, Christen. It’s unhealthy.  
> Christen: I know, that’s why I bottle up both positive and negative emotions — so it cancels out.  
> Kelley: nO.
> 
> (<\--- essentially the summary of their friendship)
> 
> Chapter warning: smut at end

**12/28/16  
The Press Home  
Palos Verdes, California **

"Hey, babe." A mouth was suddenly pressed beside her ear from behind, startling her on the front room couch where she’d been curled up with her morning devotional. "Wanna see something cute?"

Tobin tipped her head up, looking at the grinning woman behind the couch. She was still in pajamas; a soft grey top Tobin always wanted to sink her face into — and occasionally did, to answering chuckles. But her eyes were bright and her hair in a cute messy bun rather than her previous sleep-ravaged one. Either way the truth would remain. This woman was so beautiful. She felt her heart warm. "Do I?"

"Yeah, you _totally_ do. I’d finished my coffee and was going to go out to the hammock — Becky sent me this crossword book and I haven’t really gotten a chance to check it out but —" She tugged lightly on Tobin’s ponytail with a grin that couldn’t help but inspire a mirror image. "Just come on."

She closed the Bible and journal, tucking the pen on top on the side table. Followed the buzzing Christen through the hall, into the living room, then kitchen, crossing fully over to the table nestled in the curve of the bay window. Christen leaned against the table with squint-lined happiness in the corners of her eyes, chin jutting out at the yard. Tobin came to lean near her.

_Oh. Ok yeah, that was adorable._

Mal was in the hammock sideways, head hanging over upside down from the edge to face a cross-legged Lindsey, hands on the thick rope beside the smaller girl’s shoulders, swinging her lightly. They were laughing about something, the sun filtering through the one big weeping bottlebrush in the backyard to scatter green and golds on their shining hair. As Tobin watched, she realized every few swings Lindsey would duck down to try to catch Mal’s laughing mouth — quick little spiderman kisses that left the blonde’s cheeks apple-blushed. Mal arched out a hand over the net, fingers swaying through the bright and yellow hair in her gentle arc.

Lindsey caught the hammock on the next swing — it jolted a bit in the settling, leaving Mal giggling until Lindsey pulled the whole thing forward by a grip under the supine girl’s back, then kissed her soundly; Mallory’s outstretched hand tucked to cup the back of her head in a long and claiming press.

Then release. And as easy as breathing, they were just swinging and chatting again, Mal with a look of total adoration on her face. Lindsey a bit harder to see, but Tobin read it the best she could: it looked like baffled awe.

"Ok, you’re right. That is frickin’ _precious."_

"I know, right?!" Christen giggled, shoulder leaning to press into Tobin’s own. Then snuck a quick kiss onto it.

"I think Lindsey’s good for her. I want them to take it slow, you know. But… but, I think it’s good."

Tobin hummed, smiling. "They certainly look happy. And Lindsey’s a good kid. Never given me a reason to doubt in Portland. Polite. Upright. But fun too."

A considering murmur, only slightly dimmed. "Mal could use a bit of fun."

Tobin could agree with that. But then she felt the genesis of a smirk. "But not the bedroom sharing kind, right?"

A shoulder-bump and a laughing glare, joy instantly recaptured. "Not in this house. Or Chicago. No ma’am."

Tobin leaned into it — sing-songed a hum of consideration. Lofty brows. "I don’t knowww…could be a bit hypo _crit_ ical."

Sure lips connected soundly with her own and Tobin thrilled in the sudden totality of it. In the softsoftsoft of them. The barely there suck. The scent of some fruity lotion clouding her senses. Grapefruit? She chased the mouth unconsciously as it pulled slowly away to reveal green and teasing eyes. "Maybe when she’s 20."

Tobin tried to catch her breath.

Laughed.

"Yeah, sounds good."

* * *

"NO." A gasp. "There is _no way_ she actually did that."

A chuckle. "Yup."

"But… in her _suitcase?"_

"Yup. And then they had to take it all out for the search. Every single toy."

"TSA. Trampling Sexual Anonymity all over poor Kling."

"Mhm. She was surprisingly cool with it. Or at least on the outside? But you should have _heard_ the teasing she got for the entire weekend."

Lindsey was telling the story to a gawking Mal, Tobin laughing quietly on a stool at the island.

"Tell her, Tobin. It’s true right?"

She ducked under the brim of her snapback but the corners of her smiling mouth were too wide to hide. "Yes. It’s true. And I was the one sharing a _room_ with her that trip. There was only one free evening. I don’t know what she expected."

Lindsey bobbed on her toes, face bright. "Oh, I know this one! She told me she 'wanted to always be prepared', just in case she meets a hottie at a bar."

Tobin groaned, chuckling. "As long as I’m not the one sexiled, I guess I’m ok with it." A thoughtful moment. "Or sharing a wall. That too."

Mal wheezed.

"You girls know I’m in the room right?"

All three jolted, a surprised giggle spilling out of the youngest as she spun, catching the older woman’s laughing eyes as she sat her book down. "STACY!"

"That’s my name. Though I’m wondering if I need to declare it whenever someone walks into the room now."

The shivery feeling of revealed illicit talk — of parents present — lingered but Stacy’s face was so chill that you couldn’t help but relax into it.

"You’re kind of hard to see in the nook. Maybe you just need a flag system or something," Lindsey offered slyly. "Like, 'the chef is in' sorta thing, you know?"

Stacy was never one to be cowed. "Well, normally it’s just me and my husband in this house and we kind of like sneaking up on each other." A billboard-sized communication in just the waggle of her eyebrows. "Keeps the thrills going."

Lindsey tittered. Mal just hid her head in the standing blonde’s shoulder. " _Didn’t need to know that, Stacy._ "

"Oh," the older woman stood up, smiling as she wound around the island till she could lean against the sink. Eyes slanted in a mischievous tilt, "you didn’t know people in their 50’s still had sex, Mal? You know, youth is wasted on the young. You get all the energy but we have the _years_ of know how. And Cody" she winked, "knows how."

Mal sank back into Lindsey’s shaking shoulder. "Nooooooo. No, don’t say that!"

"It’s only natural, sweetie. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

She peeked up slightly. Nose wrinkling in a play at horror. "I’m pretty sure I was a test-tube baby. My parents barely even _kissed_ in front of us. I think they wanted sex to be this literal mystery until we finally hit 18."

Tobin laughed. She had so often felt the same thing. "My mom told us we were 'gifts from the angels' because her and dad loved each other and prayed for the miracle of life."

Lindsey snorted.

Mal was shaking her head, eyes bright. "We got the stork. But, like, there’s actually a lot of storks in Colorado so it took me _way_ too long to realize that one wasn’t true." All three footballers were giggling. "Public school — the place pleasant illusions go to die. Santa? Bye, son. Storks? Sorry, your parents are keeping a secret from you." She groaned in remembered embarrassment. "Ug, it was, like, practically 6th grade before I sat at a lunch table that actually talked about these things. Learned a _LOT_ from those kids. Never told my parents I knew though."

The air in the room was light, but Stacy’s face had contorted into a suddenly curious mask. Like the grey before a storm, but the kind that just holds and holds until it feels like that was just the color the sky was anyway. Not dangerous, but present. The moment she spoke, the girls could tell something was shifting.

"…Does that mean no one has ever given you the sex talk, honey?"

Mallory froze, arms tight around Lindsey’s side — (the blonde hid a laugh. She was pretty sure she knew where this was going.)

"Because that is a HUGE oversight and one that really needs to be corrected. Every child needs one."

The room hung in suspended tension... 

Stacy’s hands slapped down on her thighs, a big grin rising again on her face.

"Well, that’s our afternoon adventure now. The joys and the journeys of sex. Prepare yourself Little Mal, your time has come."

Her head started to shake minutely back and forth — "Oh, that’s really not necessary. I’m sure I’ll be fi—"

"Nope." Popped and proud. "You’re not getting out of this one, sweetie. Sex Talk season is in!"

It must have resounded a little more than she knew because —

"OH MY GOD." Christen rushed in from the living room scanning every face in a panic. "Mom… what are you doing?"

"Meeting a need, sweetie." She turned back to a pale Mallory, Lindsey’s arms now around her from behind. She rested her chin on the crown of Mal’s head, grin free to shine as Stacy snuck a glance before slipping back down to younger eyes. "Ever since October, I’ve been brushing up on what it means for two ladies — I’ll be honest, it was an oversight on my part that I didn’t include it before with my girls. You can bet I wouldn’t make the same mistake if I was starting it today." An accepting sigh, moving into pep again."But the past is the past. Actually," she turned back to a stiff and wide-eyed Christen, "you could join us for that part. You never got to have that one either."

"MOM." A vigorous head shake. Honestly, it was impressive she’d gotten her eyes even wider than before.

"As a matter of fact," at this point it had to be intentional right? A mix of teasing and earnest in the gray-green as she turned to the seated brunette. "Tobin?"

_No No No._

Tobin gulped.

 _"_ Sweetie, have your parents had this conversation with you?"

_As if. But still …_

"… No, ma’am."

"Lindsey?"

A giggled nod as the woman slid to the side, arm going around Mal’s shoulders instead. "Yup!!! All good here. Mama Horan was _all_ over that."

"Delightful." A tipped head. "Though, you’re still welcome to join us if you think it would be beneficial."

"Nope! Uh… that’s really so kind, but no… thank you. I was just thinking about how I need to…" Lindsey looked around the room for any inspiration — a laugh sounded from a far part of the house — "get to know Channing a little bit!"

Mal glared and Lindsey fought everything in herself to keep a straight face.

"Sounds good, hon. Maybe keep her out of this room for the next hour or so — the three of us are going to be busy and" a comic whisper, "I think Channing would take a little too much glee on sitting in."

Lindsey nodded, obsequious in every way — "Definitely. I can do that. We’ll be _far_ away, ma’am." She stood up, Mal clutching at her arm with hyper-raised brows and just a fraction of a pleading shake. Lindsey laughed, dropping a kiss to her forehead. "It’s a milestone in life, Mal. You all have fun now," and snuck out of the room with one last teasing wink to the wide-eyed girl.

Down to business.

"Ok, sweethearts, all of you over to the kitchen table. Grab some water or coffee if you need." She refilled her own cup and walked over to the sun and glass glinted table. It wasn’t as large as the dining room’s but _so_ good for close and necessary conversations where you need the lull of birds and green in view.

This was her element.

She smiled, repressing a chuckle as the three women slowly approached, each dragging their feet in obvious apprehension as they took up seats on the other three sides.

Tobin looked like she needed a soccer ball at her feet.  
Mal looked like she didn’t know these things happened in real life.  
Christen just looked mortified.

_This will be good for all of them._

"Great. Now, for starters." She leaned forward slightly on her elbows, making intentional eye contact with each gaze. "I’m a firm believer in a sex talk being more of an ongoing conversation than a one time thing. I think it helps a child to understand that this is a normal part of life and they can talk about it whenever they need. And you _can_ talk about it whenever you need — whether with me or each other or another person you trust. But because I don’t know how long I’ll have you here, we’ll cover as much as we can." She leaned back again, smiling. "Let’s start with the basics. Christen, what’s the first of the five lessons of a healthy sex life? Do you remember?"

Christen sighed, eyes slipping closed as she slumped. "…Mechanics. Being competent and confident."

"Precisely. Now, I realize that you are all significantly older than mine were when we started these conversations, so you probably have far more general knowledge. Mallory, did you go through a sex-ed course in high school?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"It is totally ok if the answer is no — I want you to feel safe saying anything here —" she paused for a long look, waiting till Mal nodded in acceptance, "but do you feel like you understand the basics of what sex can look like between a man and a woman?"

She fidgeted with her water glass. Took a quick sip, then cleared her throat. "Yeah … I, uh — pretty sure I’ve got that one down."

Christen looked up sharply from across the table. "Wait — Mal, have you—"

The girl’s blush was instantaneous. "AAAAnd we’re gonna skip right past that one with a 'yes I have', and a 'no, we really don’t have to talk about it.'" Tobin’s lips pulled back in the not-so-successful suppression of a chuckle at the tiger-likeness in Christen’s suddenly disgruntled gaze.

"It’s yours to share when you want to, dear. Don’t let Christen’s mama-bear face scare you." _However cute it was._ "What about women with women?"

"Um… no experience but would still say I get the concept."

"Excellent." She eyed Tobin "And I know you get the mechanics"; Well, that got Tobin and Christen in one fell swoop, and god, everyone was blushing at this point. All except a measured and perfectly-content Stacy.

"Ok, well, then we will skip that part. Christen — step two?"

Another sigh. "Safety."

"Good memory, sweetie. So, for a Revised Lesson Two: safety before, during, and after sexual intercourse whether opposite-sex or same-sex in nature. Let’s begin."

* * *

"So, we feel like we understand the tools used for safe lesbian sex, where to get them, and how to use them? Dams? Condoms for toys? Gloves?"

Three very red faces nodded back.

"And what about asking your partner if they’ve been tested for STIs since their last sexual encounter? Do we want to practice conversations again? It makes perfect after all."

Three very serious faces shook their heads back.

"And Christen, you promise to take Mallory to a gynecologist when you get back to Chicago so she can get comfortable with basic check-ups?"

"Yeah, I’ll schedule an appointment on the phone today."

"Ok, well, then that concludes Lesson Two. Christen, you’ve gotten these next ones from me before so you’re welcome to stay if you need a refresher, but you could go join Channing and Lindsey if not."

Tobin shot a hand to her knee, brows high and begging—

Christen laughed. "Sorry, baby, but once was more than enough for me. Enjoy you two." She stood and walked the few steps to kiss her mom’s head, waggled her fingers at the two others in a backwards walk, and promptly ducked out, "You’re doing great, mom! Even better than the first time!" in a last shout as she rounded the corner.

"Yeah, because I was a disaster back then." Muttered. "Totally unprepared for three teenage girls." She brightened suddenly. "But you all get the benefit of years of experience!" Tobin and Mal gulped, then nodded. "Excellent. So the next three are Readiness, Respect, and Consent."

* * *

"Mal, baby, if you ever need to talk about any of these things, please know that I would _love_ to be there for you. Phone, FaceTime, here, or I’ll even come to you if you want _._ All you have to do is ask, alright sweetie?"

 _"_ Thanks, Stacy. Truly." They got up at the same time, the older woman pulling in Mallory for a long and tight hug.

She pulled back a little, arms still around the girl. "One more time for me — what is the thread connecting all 5 lessons?"

"Clear Communication."

"Exactly. If you find someone you can talk to, baby, this will all come so much easier. It’ll be safer, emotionally deeper, and a lot more fun. Ok?"

A light blush but such a gratitude in her (still slightly embarrassed) eyes. "Ok."

One more tight hug. "Ok, Mal. Get your cute self outta here." A quick glance at the other woman just starting to stand, "I’ve got to talk to Tobin for a minute."

The woman slumped back into her chair.

Mal snuck one quick kiss to her cheek. "You’re the best. Thank for this."

"Anytime." She swatted the girl’s rear as she walked away. "Make sure the other girls stay out for a bit longer."

When Mal disappeared through the living room door, Stacy took a long look at the fidgeting woman evading her eyes. She moved to the chair Christen had vacated several steps ago and settled in.

"Tobin."

"Is this where I get the shovel talk?" She’d turned quickly. A strange muteness in her face even as the words came fast.

Stacy cocked her head. "…Do you think you need one?"

A certain gaze, projecting the truth in her words. "I don’t ever intend to hurt Christen. I only want to make her happy," _I know that already, Tobin_ "but she’s your daughter and you want her to be safe and so I expected to have to talk about this. Reassure you at some point."

Stacy was quiet for a long moment. Appraising.

Tobin waited.

"Tobin… I didn’t keep you here to talk about Christen. Though it is always nice to hear that you intend to make her happy."

Her and Cody had really mastered those long looks that make you feel like they see every little thing about you. Tobin pushed her palms down her knees. "So why—"

"Tobin, I want to talk about _you."_

 _"_ What about? I’m fi—"

"Don’t do that, baby."

Tobin froze. "Do what?"

"Believe you’re not worth being seen." She watched as Tobin squirmed some more. Stacy hadn’t been planning on doing this now — any of this today, really, but it was the door that had been opened and she wasn’t going to waste it. "I know I heard this from Christen and that might make you feel anxious. Protective of your story. But Tobin, you deserve having someone look at your story just for you. For your feelings. And not because you’re dating their daughter." A soft look. "I like to think that I can be that for both Christen and you, if you’ll let me."

Tobin cleared her throat, still coming across a bit gravely when she spoke. "What is it you’re wanting to look at?"

"I want to talk about what it was like for you sleeping with a man."

_Christ. Why did God build humans with their jugular so very exposed?_

"That’s a… pretty personal thing to talk about.

Stacy simply hummed. "It is."

"I’m not really sure how to…" she swallowed, "how to do this."

There was a surprising affection in Stacy’s eyes and Tobin tried to hold onto that. "Maybe I can ask you some questions? You can answer instead of having to look for words? And if that doesn’t work we can try something else."

"Yeah… um, ok." She could hear the other women outside in the yard somewhere now. She wasn’t at the right angle to see, but it sounded like maybe a badminton game starting up.

"Let’s start with the most important question." Stacy adjusted her chair on an angle so she could face Tobin fully — leaned back with a slight (worried?) twist of her lips. "Was it consensual?"

 _Oh._ "Yes. I said yes." Blushed. "Sorta asked him actually."

"Were you drunk though?"

"I’d been drinking. But I had enough awareness to know what I was doing."

An uncertain hum. "Were you attracted to him?"

 _No one has ever done this. No one has ever made me say this…_ It was a strange pressure in her chest. Like, she knew what the answer was, but it was one thing to know and another to put that out in the universe. To have someone else really know.

Stacy’s eyes were so soft though.

"No. He was objectively attractive and my friends were excited about it for me. But…" she looked down. Unable to meet the softness even. "No, I… I wasn’t attracted to him."

 _Why do I feel_ guilty?! _Why does this feel like this? Why can’t I just be nor—_

A hand met her knee. Squeezed lightly. "It’s ok to say that, Tobin. It’s ok for them to feel something and you not to."

The tears were starting to burn in the corners of her eyes. Not falling. But Tobin hated it all the same. "I _wanted_ to. I— I wish I—"

Stacy interrupted without a hint of shame. "No, baby. Don’t you ever wish to be anything except what you are. Not for something like this."

"But maybe if I was — if I _could_ , things would—"

"Be wrong. They’d be wrong, Tobin. Because then you wouldn’t be this special woman in front of me. Sensitive. Deep-welled. Watchful for the inner conflicts in other’s lives. Empathetic. You’d be a different woman." Another squeeze at her knee. "And I _so_ like this Tobin right here."

 _Shit._ _That was definitely a tear._

"Tobin… why did you sleep with him?"

"I just" she hated when her throat got tight like this. It felt like the twinge of a hammy you pulled not too long ago; all seize and ache. "I had all these feelings. For Christen. For… for things I knew I shouldn’t want. Then this woman was there and she — my stomach was just — when she _touched_ me and… and Christen had asked me to try. Wanted me to be open to possible connections. And I was angry because all I really wanted was _her_ and I knew that couldn't happen, but even so, knowing she was out trying to be with someone else? I just ...”

Tobin shook her head, eyes glassy as they watched reel of a past scene.

“But then all of a sudden this connection with someone _was_ there and it was so strong and physical and I was _terrified._ It was too real and too close to those things I thought were off-limits. And he had seemed interested earlier, so I—"

She huffed. Tried to explain. Couldn’t.  
  
"But it was consensual. And it felt good. So I don’t know why it’s made me so— I—" she shoved the heels of her hands against her face, bright spots flashing white and yellow against the press of her eyelids.

It was a mother’s register. Soft and low, like a lullaby. "Tobin, consent means nothing if the other things weren’t there. You had the mechanics down enough to feel good. And I assume you were safe?" She waited till Tobin nodded. "But, baby, you weren’t _ready._ Not really. And most of all, you didn’t have respect. For him in letting him know how you were really feeling. But most importantly, you didn’t have respect for _yourself_. That’s what really scares me. Because without that, you may have given him consent, but you weren’t consenting to sex. You were consenting to something that would harm you, baby. You were consenting to being _hurt_."

She could feel the slow but damp tracks on her cheeks.

"There’s so much hurt in this world already. Far too much for us to be adding on top." A thumb across her cheek, melding the wet rivers into one another. "There’s nothing wrong with what you want, Tobin. With who you want. You deserve to feel _good,_ sweetie."

"I — um," a wet chuckle. "I don’t think I’m very good at believing that. At living that."

"Well, as a mom, it’s my job to make sure that you _learn_ to believe that. And baby, you started all this thinking I wanted to hear that you would keep Christen happy. But I want to ask something else. Tobin, I want you to try to keep _yourself_ happy too. Ok?"

A combined sniff and chuckle that Tobin was pretty sure she’d never done before. "Yeah. Ok."

"I know you’re with Christen, and I assume that means you aren’t going to be going out and sleeping with men" — Tobin vigorously shook her head — "but there will still be ways you are tempted to give into something that even if it _feels_ good might mean more pain than pleasure for you. And when those moments come… give yourself the respect to admit you’re not ready. And respect both of you by trying to communicate that. Because then you can heal together, baby. Like you’re supposed to."

"What could hurt from me and Christen?"

A curious eye. A knowing one. "I’m not so naive as to believe you all have worked everything out between you perfectly. We all have traumas and they all come up at often the most inconvenient times. You can love someone and still hurt each other by accident. Communication helps that to happen less."

"Are you… are you saying I’ve hurt her? Did she tell you something?" A flare of panic. "I haven’t pushed her I swear. I mean, I don’t think I have? Have I—"

"Shhh. Tobin. That wasn’t what I was saying. Remember — we’re talking about _you."_ A terse but somehow also oh-so-tender smile. "I can talk about Christen with Christen. I _do_ talk about Christen with Christen." A sigh — another lean back in her chair. "But I care about you too, sweetie. I just want you to be kind to yourself. Please?"

A slow nod. She felt like she didn’t understand everything she was saying. Sometimes seeds took a while to grow.

But she really did want to know…

"But… please, just in case. Is there anyway I can help Christen? Let her be less afraid?"

An exasperated chuckle. Then a fond one close on its heels. "Tobin, why would you ever need a shovel talk when you are who you are?" A soft smile and a pat at her knee. "Just be you, baby. Just keep being you."

* * *

"So, did you survive, Pugh?"

"Shut up, Lindsey." But she sank down in her lap anyway, scowling at the nearby and grinning Channing. "I know _SO_ much more than I ever wanted to know."

"Ahhh, the Stacy special." The Press daughter laughed, kicking her feet out to catch Mal’s and Lindsey’s knees in one teasing joust. "She really holds nothing back." A wicked smile. "Did she make you all practice the conversations?"

"YES. I had to pretend to have chlamydia!" A little giggle snuck up into her cheeks. "Though it was so funny to see Tobin try to handle that one. I think she thought the answer would always be 'no' when we asked if they were clean. Took her, like, 20 seconds of mumbling to get out one 'Unfortunately that’s a no to sex. But would you like a ride to a clinic?"

The answering chuckles made Mal feel a little better. She sank further into Lindsey.

Channing leaned into the softness of the moment. "You know, it’s obviously a really awkward talk. But… I’ve had to use that line before. A couple times actually."

A curious glance. Real consideration. "…Really?"

"Yeah. I know it’s goofy in there but… I don’t know if I would have been confident enough to ask if they’d been tested since their last encounter if I hadn’t been told I needed to."

Lindsey smiled, wrapping her arms around a thoughtful Mallory. "Sounds like you got some good teaching, Mal."

"Yeah…" a nod against the blonde’s breastbone. "Yeah, I guess I did." She looked at a soft Channing, so much like her mom. Even as she sat there in red pajamas with penguins all over them. There was a lot of substance under that tease. "You’ve got a pretty cool mom, Chan."

An even softer smile, her outstretched foot now coming to rest warmly against the wall of Mal’s shins. "The best. Mom _and_ Dad." A tiny nudge. "You have them now too, Mal. As much as you want."

There was an overwhelming rush of joy. And then, close on its heels, the feeling of a tumbling ledge.

Mallory hid her nose in Lindsey’s throat.

* * *

That night, the whole family stayed up until 11 playing Monopoly.

There was bickering, and laughing, and negotiated partnerships, and cries of foul play, and sisterly "wanna take this outside, Christen?!"s, and whispers about "reward later if you let me buy that railroad" in partner’s ears, and endless hot chocolate, and the heavy breathing of the snoozing dogs nearby with the occasional and joyous thump of a tail.

The whole family together.

And for every person there, it meant the world.

* * *

Tobin and Christen were becoming very good friends with 12AM.

"No, I promise it was good. She was really great through all of it."

"You looked like you’d been crying, baby."

"Yeah, but it wasn’t the bad kind. She’s just — she’s so incredible, Christen. You’re so lucky."

A hum as Christen twisted her fist in Tobin’s shirt. Kissed once under her chin.

"You wanna talk about anything?"

"Not now, but I think definitely later. She hit us with so much." A soft hand tucking a lock behind Christen’s ear. "Is it ok if I process first? Get back to you?"

Christen grabbed the retreating hand, cupping it to her cheek instead. "Of course. Whatever you need."

"What about you? Any lingering thoughts or anything?"

Christen bit her lip for a moment. Then turned to lay a kiss at the center of Tobin’s palm. "Actually, yeah. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, but everything today kind of confirmed it. I… I want to have sex with you, Tobin. I mean," a confused fold of her eyebrows that Tobin found ridiculously adorable, "I believe what we’ve been doing _is_ sex. But I want you to be able to touch me. I don’t even think it’s this huge thing anymore. I _do_ want it. It’s almost like it’s just a wall that I haven’t seen over so I don’t know how to press through. Like, I want to but I’m not totally sure _how_ , you know?"

Tobin hummed, hand back at the curl of her hair. Gentling through it.

Christen closed her eyes in a quiet acceptance. The glow of touch. Flickered open again with a little growing light in her eyes. "So, I wanted to try. If you’re willing."

Tobin rolled her eyes with a grin. Like she ever wouldn’t want to touch this woman?

Christen seemed to understand and laughed. "Ok, fine. But I more mean seeing if we can get there tonight. You touching me. I don’t want us to feel like we’ve failed or something if we don’t get there — if _I_ don’t get there. But I want to try still. And this idea… I think it could… could help me feel more comfortable. And in control. A blend of the familiar and also some new."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you used to hold me, right?" Christen bit her lip, mouth twisting slightly as she glanced down, then up again in the genesis of some sort of hope. "And it helped. You made me feel like I wasn’t alone. Like I was safe."

"That’s awesome, Chris." That same lock, smoothed again and again. "But what do you need _tonight_?"

"I was hoping we could do that still but… more intimate, sort of? And I was hoping you could…" she blushed, "you could lead."

"Meaning?"

Christen’s lip just disappeared between her teeth, eyes watching as she reached a hand to the hem of Tobin’s shirt; lifted slightly then tugged. "Can we — all of it?" 

Tobin sat up, crossed her arms over her torso, and pulled her shirt over her head in one smooth motion. Then, while Christen was still admiring the sudden and glorious arrival of Tobin’s breasts, Tobin took the chance to slip off her shorts as well. She backed up against the headboard.

"This is a good idea, Chris. It makes sense. We were never on even footing. You always had to be more vulnerable. It made sense for where we were — what that was — but not anymore." Communication right? "I’m really honored you felt like you could ask."

She let her knees fall out and Christen’s eyes stumbled to the lips down there. Open. Not really wet yet, but with just a hint of shine at the center.

Hands disrupted her view, patting the quilt. "Come up here?"

Christen hesitated. Then wanted to laugh at herself.

There was nothing in this but good. She’d asked for this. She _wanted_ their skin to touch. She wanted Tobin to hold her. To feel close. So she turned and scooted back. She slid off her shorts when she got there, tossing them lightly over the side of the bed. Before completely leaning back, she felt Tobin’s hands trace down her sides to the hem.

"Lift?"

Christen lofted her arms and the sudden dark of her shirt passing over her eyes made her shiver. Made her press back into the warmth and silk of Tobin’s body. 

Ok, yeah. This _felt_ different. They truly hadn’t done this before. It really was old yet completely new at the same time: Christen sitting in the vee of Tobin’s legs, apex of her knees to the sides, perfect for Christen to place her hands on. Shoulders pressing back into the soft of Tobin’s naked chest. The curve of her ribcage. Head ducking down into that space near the base of her neck, weight against the sternum. All skin on skin.

She sighed.

"Feel good?"

"Yeah." She sunk down a bit. Enough to glance up at Tobin’s eyes with a tilt back. "What next?"

… So, she might have a bit of a thing for Tobin telling her what to do, she admitted silently to herself. She could already feel the anticipation churning in her gut.

"I guess…" Christen could hear her mind whirring. Read it in the way she inhaled through her nose. In the slight wet sound of her lip moving in and out of her mouth. It took about 6 seconds to settle. Then the midfielder nodded. Christen grinned. "Ok, it’ll be like before. Only now I can… touch. Not— not anywhere you don’t want me to. But the other places."

"Like where…?" Coy. She knew Tobin could tell. But that was sort of the point.

"Like…" a tentative finger trailed slow and electric across the length of a collarbone "here."

"Just there?"

"No. It could also be," Tobin’s hands went around the outside, dipping under the bend of her knees to touch the underside of Christen’s thighs, also slightly propped up.

She shivered. Let the fingers trace for a few moments. _What is it that makes that feel so good. Aides have touched my legs for years. But this makes me — makes me —_ It was almost too much, honestly. Too soon. "Where else?"

The hands snuck back around the front, ascending towards the summit of her chest, just about to graze when —

They teased up again instead, only air meeting her breasts and she strained slightly forward searching for touch; calmed when the fingers went to her face instead. Stroked the lines of her cheeks; that sensitive place right in the lower middle that makes your mouth open. Massaged lightly at her temples. Trailed a finger down her nose.

Finally, fingers settled at her forehead, stroking little lines into the start of her hair as a mouth snuck around to close around the curve of her ear. "Relaxed?"

"Not really, actually." Christen grasped at one of the hands. Pulled it lower. "But I don’t think that’s what I’m looking for right now." She led Tobin’s hand to her breast. Let it settle around it and then placed her own on top. Squeezed lightly. When she pulled away, Tobin kept going. Pulses and pulls. Large at first, practically the diameter of her breast but lessening with each stroke. Smaller and smaller until it closed around that tip it had just missed before and Christen swallowed what she knew would be an embarrassingly needy sound; pressed her head into the bend of Tobin’s neck and shoulder. "That. That’s what I wanted."

Another hand now, on the other side. Both restarting their inward climb. Christen closed her eyes, just enjoying the feeling of it. The quiet of it. Nothing rushed. Just… feeling.

But also progressing. Moving them forward into something. Christen let her breath rattle around in her chest for a moment. A flurry, then fall. "…Do you want more?"

"It’s not about me, Chris." A pause. A concession. "I’m always going to want to touch you, Chris. But what do _you_ want?"

Christen didn’t know. Just let those hands keep playing with her chest. Hoped Tobin would decide.

After a long enough time to realize she wasn’t going to answer, Tobin would. Even if it made her chest clench in hope and fear. "Are you wet?"

Christen nodded. Familiar enough now to know without needing to touch.

"Good. That’s so good, Chris. So hot." The hands moved with more purpose on her breasts - more force as they palmed and squeezed. Christen arched into it. Once she began sneaking whimpers into her pants, Tobin slowed. Kissed long and surprisingly soft at her cheek. "Ok, this was my idea. You touch, same as always. But… I’m going to put my hands on yours. Not touching what they are. Just… supporting. Like when you’re learning the piano."

A quiet closed-eyed smile. Tobin’s voice lit the dark well enough. "I didn’t learn the piano."

A mouth rubbed lightly against her shoulder. Not kissing. Just… feeling. "You always start by putting your hands on your teacher’s. Just figuring out what it feels like to move up and down the keys. The individual movement of the fingers. It’ll be like that. You do the work but you know I’m here. Nearby, but not forcing. And, if you’re ready — whether today or a year from now — you say the word when you’re comfortable and I’ll just… take over."

"Play me like a piano?" Christen smirked.

"Something like that."

Tobin’s hands were still on her nipples, but just her thumbs. Rubbing lightly against the tips. Not even pressing… just… petting almost. Like you’d feel a petal. It made Christen’s pelvis feel like it was going to… burst? Yeah. Burst into a sea of wet and fragments of sensations that would play in her dreams. Piano music now, she bet. Sonatas. "Ok. Let’s do it."

Two last strokes over the tips that left Christen remembering a theory Tobin had once shared. But another time.

"Hands."

Christen obediently held them up. Tobin brought hers just behind them. The left, she snuck her fingers into the crooks of Christen’s and closed, setting it lightly on the forward’s naked stomach. A warm weight. But the right, Tobin lined up her fingers precisely. Her fingers were just a fraction smaller anyway, so it fit. Two shades of brown in that growing-to-be-familiar lamplight.

She pushed slightly down. Down until their hands hovered an inch off the surface of wet and dark hair.

"I’m not going to take anything. Just be with you. Ok?"

Christen let her back settle more into Tobin’s warmth. Jostled her shoulders till the position felt right. "Ok."

With a dark twist in her stomach but a growing-to-overcome heat, she lowered her fingers to the site.

Wet, definitely. Not dripping just yet, but certainly certainly wet.

She dipped a little further, catching some of it on her fingertips.

Tobin’s fingers on the back of hers were a strange weight. So much different than the cotton of underwear. Even different than her own hand adding extra force. It was warmer, first of all. And not quite in sync — unable to predict her moves, only follow. But being wrapped in Tobin’s body like this? Secure on all sides? It was good. It was like everything good from the early days in their exploration of her therapy, but amplified. Made all the more sweet and unified with the baring of skin. Chris let her head tip back again. Let it press into the side of Tobin’s neck.

"Tobin?"

"You’re doing great, Chris. Just keep touching for now. Can I use my other hand?"

"Yeah."

Tobin unlatched her fingers from Chris’s left hand. Traced it up up up the skin until finally it threaded into Christen’s hair from the back of her neck. Scratching at her scalp as Christen nosed into Tobin’s throat again.

Tobin was trying not to think about how Christen’s fingers were getting truly wet. It had started just on the pads but the woman was turned on enough that it was glancing up the sides. Every twist of her hand let it creep a little into and onto the curves of her fingers. Up to where Tobin’s hand sat. Starting to wet _her_ fingers. She itched to flex. To feel.

She restrained it. Scratched in Christen’s hair instead.

"Are you feeling safe?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Kept scratching in her hair. "Do you want me to touch anywhere?"

"Neck."

Tobin pulled her fingers slowly out of the curls with a scratch. Then slipped it around that smooth curve until her hand cupped lightly around the ridges of her esophagus. Stroked there slightly. She could feel Christen swallow. Feel the vibrations of the little staccato whimper she was emitting with greater and greater frequency as her right hand moved. Another one and Tobin squeezed just a little bit, trying to feel the tenor. The note. _It’s a G_ she thinks.

It made Christen breathe shakily and she withdrew. Went back to stroking with just the barest tip of her fingers.

Christen’s left hand snuck up from her belly, folding briefly around Tobin’s with another squeeze. Then she lifted it up the few inches to her mouth. Brought those two fingers into the dark of it. Sucked.

Tobin liked this. She wasn’t sure if her fingers in Christen’s mouth was better than Chris’s in hers. Maybe just different. But right now this was definitely good.

Christen didn’t suck when she pulled them out. Just opened, letting them emerge fully soaked. Then, took the thumb in by itself, tongue whirling around it quickly, but firm. Then brought it out too and led them all down to her nipple. 

Well, no instruction needed for that one.

Tobin circled it. Then pulled, slipping off quickly in the slick of it. Again.

Christen’s right hand was going faster now. Erratic enough that Tobin had lifted her fingers even as her palm stayed firm against Chris’s — no accidental slips. That would be taking.

She knew her own wet was pressed against the small of Christen’s back. The woman could probably feel it dripping honestly. Sliding down into — Tobin squeezed her eyes shut. Focused on the skin underneath her hand. Pulled lightly again, then twisted in the purchase afforded as the air dried the surface slightly. Then brought back just her thumb to the tip. Rubbed softly, softly. Just enough to make the rest of her ache.

Christen’s head pressed into her neck again. Laid a kiss there. It was a bit messy. Panted slightly as she mouthed. "Can I do something?"

"Whatever you like, Chris."

The woman mouthed at her neck one more time. Then pulled her hand away, fingers slicking lines into the webs of Tobin’s fingers as she pulled her hand out. _I know what that tastes like._

Chris leaned up and then—

Turned around. Knees tight in at her body until she’d completed a 180, then threading out through the bend of Tobin’s knees and folding around the woman’s hips in the gap between bone and headboard. She was eye to eye with Tobin and every eyelash seemed illuminated in the horizontal light.

She brought her fingers up briefly, eyes wide and watching as she tucked them into the slight open of Tobin’s mouth. Let her suck. Taste.

_Fuck. There it is. So good._

Then they were gone.

Chris was looking. Just looking. Open and evaluating. Something happening in there.

Then she glanced down. Tobin tracked and —

_Christ._

Their cunts were only inches apart. The wet Tobin knew Christen could feel a minute ago against her back was now open and glistening. Evident.

When she looked up, Christen was biting her lip.

Tobin cupped her face and snuck one brief chaste kiss. "Are you ok?"

A nod and a strange pink, growing. A lick of the lips — uncertain. But considering.

Then she reached and grabbed Tobin’s right hand —

She pulled it into the gap between their bodies.

Brought it right against the wet of her.

Tobin gasped. Her hand was frozen but she could feel it all the same. It was pulsing, moving almost like Christen was clenching and contracting where Tobin couldn’t see. Couldn’t touch. She looked up again. "Chris."

"It’s ok."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I want you to."

_That’s what you said before._

Tobin swallowed. Stared into the green.

"I will only do this if you are _100_ % sure. Please don’t try to be strong or something, Christen. If you let me hurt you, scare you, I don’t think I can take it. So please." She searched deeper in the hue. Wondered what was visible in her own. "Be sure."

Christen looked for a long moment.

And then she moved Tobin’s hand even more forcefully into the damp of her.

Tobin waited.

Another press.

_Ok. …Ok, then._

Tobin let her fingers start to move. Just little ups and downs. Testing.

Then longer strokes. Top to bottom of the lips. Once. Twice.

Christen’s eyes had slipped shut, mouth open slightly but she looked ok. She looked present.

Tobin brought her thumb into the mix. Let it test the folds of skin. Measure the thickness. Pull lightly at the wet till it was everywhere.

_She’s so soft. Spread open. Slow slow slow. Careful, Tobin._

_I want to touch her._

_Slow._

"How are yo—"

"Good." A pant. "It feels good."

She let her hand push into the hair down there. Scratch gently. "Can I touch your cl—"

"Yes." Christen’s legs had contracted slightly, pulled her all the closer to Tobin’s spread legs and when she brought her hand back down, Tobin could almost feel her knuckles against own body. Could _actually_ feel them as she started to rub three fingers through the open of her. The slide of her. Slick and soft.

Christen’s hands were around the back of Tobin’s neck now, fingers grasped and then she leaned forward, forehead against Tobin’s shoulder. "Keep going, Tobs. Please."

She started circling now. It was a little hard to see, but Christen’s clit looked larger than her own. A little more prominent. She tried circling the edges of it. Then direct pressure, wondering if that would be too much. But the woman just pressed her forehead again, shoulders moving in little gasping pants. "Please."

She didn’t even need to look now. Let her head lean down too, sucking on the skin and salt of Christen’s shoulder. Kept circling. She could feel it in the tremble of her spine. And if she couldn’t tell from that, she would certainly be able to by the increasing fluid she hit on every downward stroke. The woman was close. Tobin sank her teeth into the muscle. Soothed it with a suck. Looked down into the dark hollow of their bodies.

Circled faster still.

Christen cried out, a little choked and soprano moan she tried to quiet in the bend of Tobin’s throat.

One day they’d do this where they wouldn’t have to be quiet.

"You’re so pretty like this. You’re being so brave."

Christen lurched forward and it made Tobin’s knuckles knock back, brushing into her own clit and she shivered. Scooted back just a hair. Kept circling.

"It feels so good to touch you. To see you like this."

A graze of teeth against her throat.

"I want you to come. I want to be the one who made you do it."

The woman kept rocking, hips searching for just a little bit more, some type of friction.

_I can’t go inside her. So what can—_

_Ah._

She circled for a few moments more, waiting for a time that felt right in the motion of her body, then —

"Come, Chris." And right as she said it, Tobin pinched with the flesh of her thumb and forefinger, holding tight even through the slick.

And just like that, teeth sank into her shoulder with another muffled cry, shoulders shaking and a little gush of wet so exuberant Tobin could only stare in awe as it spurt the inch or so against her own open body, dripping down along her folds and onto the sheets until you couldn’t tell whose was whose. Just a circle of damp between them.

Teeth released. Then a thumb came up to rub against the little divots. A nose snuck into her neck and Tobin closed her eyes at the feeling of hot breath blowing against her in little stuttered pants.

"Tobin."

"Yeah."

"That was…"

"Mm?"

" _Thank you_ , Tobin."

The emotion behind Christen’s words was like a physical touch. She leaned her head in a reverse mirror into the woman’s neck. Nosed against it. "I love you, Chris. I want you to feel good."

_Stay, Chris. Please._

"I feel good." A kiss against her shoulder as Christen’s legs tighten again. It brings their bodies so close that one small thrust would see them meeting.

"Can I—" a hand snuck down between them. Slid briefly through the wet of Tobin’s folds.

Tobin grasped the wrist lightly. Pulled it up to kiss it, then sucked the tips till the little hint of wet was gone. "It’s ok. It’s your birthday tomorrow. It’s going to be so busy and I can already tell you’re tired." Whispered; "we have time, Chris."

"Are you sure?" a little rock of her hips and Tobin swore she could feel the brush of hair.

"Yeah, babe." She looked down. Started, then chuckled. "And we should probably change the sheets. What if you go clean up and I take these to the laundry room and grab some spares?"

A sleepy hum still in her neck. "Watch out for the third step. It creaks."

Tobin let her hand trace around to Christen’s back. Let it stroke the length of it. Then she tapped three vertebrae, one two, three, down from Chris’s neck. "Third from the top or," she let her finger sit right at the cleft of Chris’s ass, the woman shivering in a sudden whimper, then drag slowly up over three juts in her spine. Then even slower back down until her hand shoved fully between sheet and skin, squeezing; "…from the bottom."

Christen’s eyes flickered shut. "From the top."

A warm kiss against her throat and the lightest grip of teeth. Christen whimpered, hips rocking just slightly at the breath of a coming whisper:

"…Too bad." And just like that, Tobin pulled her hand away and slid off the bed, body strong and luminous in the orange light. She covered it with a long tee as Christen sat, mouth still gaping.

"Well, don’t just sit there, messy girl. I’ve got to take these off. And you," Tobin pulled Chris to her feet, swiping one hand between the woman’s legs in a sudden boldness. Brought her hand to her mouth with a wink, "need to take care of that." A sudden consideration of just how one might clean her up. "Unless you want me to."

A body pressing into hers with a moan. "THAT will have to wait for another day. Another" a kiss "incredibly" another "good" and a kiss at her earlobe "day." One long suck.

Then a hand slapped at Christen’s rear. "Ok, beautiful. Go do what you need to do." But as she pulled away, a contradicting hand pulled at her wrist, bringing Christen back in for just a moment.

A press of foreheads.

One last lingering kiss.

"I love you, Chris. You know that right?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Good."

Then Tobin left to get a new pair of sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are still enjoying this crazy ride!
> 
> Leave a Comment: Did you ever get the sex talk? How did your guardian/parent/s do it if so? (Mine just handed me a book and were like 'read this.')
> 
> Emily: Ok, Truth.  
> Allie: Have you ever kissed a woman?  
> Emily: No, I—  
> *Door breaks down*  
> Kelley: I CAN CHANGE THAT.


	13. Bumps in the Road - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Open the door or I’m going to get Cody to come take it off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley: The new iPhone costs $1000 dollars?!?!  
> Emily:  
> Emily: The entire Cracker Barrel menu costs $887.71  
> Kelley: *wipes away one happy tear*  
> Kelley: I knew I did the right thing in marrying you.
> 
> \---
> 
> Healing is nonlinear and we all hit bumps in the road. But, if we're lucky, we get to do it with people who love us in the passenger seat.
> 
> Trigger warning: this chapter talks about self-injury

**12/29/16**

**Palos Verdes, California**

" _Happy birthday to you._ "

Christen woke blearily, caught in that place where you weren’t sure whether what you were hearing was dream or wake.A creaking door. A soft voice. Each so common in the limn of both morning and the subconscious mind.

The sudden dip of the mattress cleared it up.

" _Happy birthday to you._ "

It was her mother, crooning softly and suddenly she was 10 years old again; the same room, same thin dawn light, same female timbre coaxing her from sleep, so different from the rumble of her father’s on game day mornings.

" _Happy birthday, dear Christen._ "

Her lids couldn’t help but flutter shut at the familiar hand smoothing away dreams from her hair. The warm and safe of it.

" _Happy birthday to you_." It was the softest yet and followed by a kiss on her temple reminiscent of hundreds of other slow mornings.

Christen smiled, eyes still closed in her memory travels through time; "Hi, mama."

"Hello, my sweet darling."

A hip pressed into Christen’s elbow, suggesting movement, but the covers were still perfect on top of her and she was just the right level of warm. Maybe if she just stayed still…

"Scoot a little for me, love."

Well, at least she got to stay in bed. Christen rolled obediently towards the center, elbows and heels working in small little digs against the mattress to create space for Stacy, knowing her mother would be joining her soon just like she alwa—

_— Wait —_

_Tobin_ was here!In bed with her! Christen froze in a surge of panic, eyes now wide and racing.

A half-second later, heart still thudding from the stumble-drop of its last beat, the glance proved everyone was clothed and decent. A heady breath filled her lungs instead and she let herself notice the details: a lock of hair caught in the inhalation of her mouth. The honey-light bouncing off the sun streaks in her hair. The bit of drool noticeable only for the hint of darker blue cotton at the corner of her lips. Tobin looked so vulnerable in sleep. So slack. Christen let her nose nestle against her hair for a moment. Moved the lip-stuck lock and spoke at a whisper. "Hey baby, you don’t have to get up, but can you move a little closer to the edge?"

The woman hummed sleepily and somewhat disgruntled, always one to drift _towards_ warmth in the night rather than away, frequently leaving her girlfriend pressed to the margins from the incremental migration. Christen heard a chuckle from behind her; blankets lifting as Stacy squeezed in to sit against the headboard, legs covered by the quilt.

Tobin’s eyelashes bobbed heavy, butterfly wings revealing, then hiding, then revealing, then hiding the brown orbs underneath. When she noticed Stacy her eyes widened for just a moment …

Then turned warm in recognition. She backed until everyone could fit comfortably, a finally-situated Stacy guiding Christen until she could curl with her head in her mother’s lap, hair long and obsidian on the pillow behind her.

Stacy’s hands worked their way into the midst again, stroking in tender lines.

"28 years ago my life changed forever."

The cadence was what gave it away; this was something repeated. Tobin’s sleep-blurred mind was still in that stage where pictures were more understandable than words.

It was the sound of worn trails in the woods that you’d run all your life.

"28 years ago this beautiful baby girl breathed her first breath without me, and it stole mine right out of my lungs. It was like no living thing in the world could breathe in that moment but you — the rest of us were too in awe at this wondrous thing — this wondrous _person_ who had finally entered into our midst."

Tobin wished she could see Christen’s face; knew she must be smiling. But what sort of smile was it? Tobin had seen so many different smiles by now, but surely this one was unique. Was precious in a way few things truly achieve — not like adorable. Precious like the word originally meant. Costly. A thing that made everyone it touched feel reverence. Feel the urge to protect and treasure.

"The very first thing in this world you touched was your father. His hands carried you — held you for that first miracle breath." That age-softened hand still moving, witnessing the reality of her daughter. "And then he placed you on me. Right against my chest. And I held you for the first time. Christen, I held you and I became someone different. Someone new."

"New how?"

This too was part of the ritual, Tobin thought. Like call and response in church. The innate knowing of it. 

"New like every color in the leaves and the sky and the sea had brightened. New like a cut of fabric finally sewn into a dress, getting shape and purpose. New like the money you saved for an unknown reason, but faithfully kept putting away — wondering and wondering — and then suddenly you discover _why_. And then it’s not some rote exchange anymore; it is the doorway you were building yourself towards an answered dream."

"What dream, mama?"

Tobin had never heard Christen say that name — or her voice so downy. It was like a child’s blanket fresh from the dryer, and just as cozy. This title must also be a remnant from past years.

Christen was probably the cutest kid.

"The dream of a person you were meant to know. You had no idea they were missing. No idea your world was less because they weren’t there. But then all the steps of your life lead to that point. That meeting. And you realize instantly that you had been born with the seed of this moment. That you could never be the you you were meant to be until this person was there. And somehow… finally, they are."

"And as I grew… was I what you expected? The child you wanted?"

Tobin couldn’t help but watch. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before.

"Sweetheart, if I hadn’t met you, I could never have imagined you. You were _so_ much more than I or your father could possibly dream."

"And you love me?"

"I love you completely and even more with every passing day."

"And no matter where I go or what I do, you will love me?"

"You know I will." Stacy’s long finger tapped at her daughter’s nose and Tobin wanted to laugh at it — the shared (inherited, she realized) trait. "How deep do I love you, Christen?"

"To the deepest reach of the ocean."

Tap.

"How high?"

"To the farthest star I can see."

Tap.

"How long?"

"Till the world ends. And when everything starts again and the lights turn back on, there it’ll be — still going."

Then one smiled drag of her finger up the bridge of Christen’s nose.

"That’s right." Stacy’s hands lifted, one settling stationary on Christen’s mane, the other to her side on the bed. "Happy birthday, Christen."

"The best one yet."

"But only better to come."

Tobin marked what must be the end of the script. She could feel the shift back into reality. Into the current.

Christen scrunched a bit closer, the top of her head nestling backwards into the soft of her mother’s stomach."I’m sorry I missed so much this year. Was gone so long."

"You’re living the life you wanted — that you fought for. That brings me joy."

"But I missed both of your birthdays. And dad’s scare at the doctor. And Tyler’s party for—"

"Shh."

It took a moment for Tobin to realize Stacy was looking at her even while comforting Christen and the shock of it - the inclusion - almost made her flinch. But Stacy’s smile was soft, and in a slow bend, she reached for Tobin’s hand on the comforter behind Christen’s back and lifted it, guiding it over the curled frame. Tobin checked once more, noting the smile and the tipping nod of her head, then obeyed, slipping closer until she was wrapped against the sighing woman. Christen settled back into the warmth and Tobin let it leave her nose pressed right between those winged shoulder blades. The sleep scent of her — like muted flowers, laundry detergent, and a hint of sweat — filled her senses. 

"Me and your father have been just fine, sweetie. We know what your job takes."

"But you didn’t choo—"

"Shh. No more. We support you in whatever you feel led to do." Tobin startled at the hand in her own hair — knew it must be Stacy’s. She pressed further against Christen’s back, nosed up against her spine as the weight soothed softly.

It was a strange moment.

A moment of not knowing you wanted something until you received it.

"Soccer is a magnetic woman. I’m not surprised that the two of you are caught. She’s not a kind woman, but she is beautiful. And when she seems to be on your side — it feels like you could fly I imagine."

Tobin found herself humming into the bumps of Christen’s spine, agreeing.

The forward’s hand snuck down, lacing with Tobin’s draped on her stomach and pulled it up till she could tuck it against her chest. The words were quiet but the tone had just a sliver of rue in the bouquet: "Until you crash."

A motherly comfort thrummed softly from Stacy’s throat and Tobin let herself hold Christen a little tighter. Let her lips press one sincere kiss to a notch in her spine.

"She’s not the sort of paramour who keeps promises. It’s not in her nature."

Pressure squeezed around Tobin’s hand, and then lips, light as a visiting ladybug. "…Do you think we’re crazy, mom? For loving this game?"

"We don’t choose our passions, Christen. They choose us." Despite the topic, something in the room, the mood made Tobin sleepy — breath hot and thick in the space between mouth and shirt. The aged hand was meditative in its moving through her hair even as Stacy continued to speak and Tobin had to struggle to translate."But don’t make a mistake, Christen. Don’t confuse passion with love."

"What do you mean?"

"You don’t love soccer. Not really."

Well, Tobin didn’t know if she agreed with _that_. Ball was life, right? She’d loved soccer since the moment one had landed on her feet.

"Passion is powerful, but it’s one-sided. You are passionate _for_ something; a sport, theater, fast cars, whatever it might be."

"What’s love then?"

"I’ll tell you. But first —" A thumb moved at Tobin’s hairline now, tracing down to her ear. "You give it a try, Tobin."

It took her a moment. But then she saw what Stacy was asking for — knew it clear as day. It was something she’d first memorized in Sunday school at age 10. She leaned her head back a little; enough for clear air. "Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast." This was her own well-worn trail. It was as easy to speak as it was for her to juggle. "It is not proud, or rude, or self seeking. Love is not easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. It does not delight in evil but it rejoices with the truth."She paused — the words were there. But why did this feel so weighty all of a sudden?

Why did it always feel like Stacy was two steps ahead in a game Tobin didn’t know she was playing?

"Finish it, honey."

"Love always protects; always trusts; always hopes; always perseveres." And one final inhalation — "Love never fails."

The thumb swiped again, tracing. "Well done, sweetheart. Make sure you let that travel about 10 inches further down than just your head, yeah?"

Tobin moved forward into Christen’s back again; hiding. Ready for the attention to shift away again; to sink back into the lulled aperitif of the days’s demands.

Thankfully, Stacy seemed to be okay with that. "Christen, love is the fact that before you touched anything in this world — before any part of you touched the earth, or felt the sun, or even saw the sky — you touched me and your father. That you laid on my chest before you ever laid in grass. Passion is material but love is human, baby. Passions fail us. They are fickle mistresses. But love _never_ lets you down. It may hurt. But love is not and never will be a bad thing."

Tobin could feel Christen’s smile through her ribcage somehow. Through the way her body relaxed into the mattress. "Yeah, you’re right."

"Of course I am." It was said with a laugh and a shift in the bed — a moving to the side. "And I’ll tell it to you as many times as you need to hear." Then, with a deep lean, Stacy kissed both of them soundly on the head. "I’ll have breakfast ready at 8:00 so you have some time to linger if you want." Then, a sudden mess of kisses all over Christen’s face leaving the girl giggling in the deluge. "Happy birthday, my little love."

And then she was out of the room.

Christen let out the last few chuckles, then turned over in the circle of Tobin’s arms to press their foreheads together with a whisper. "Sorry, should have warned you. Mom always comes in on our birthdays. It’s sort of her thing."

"Yeah, I kind of picked up on that." The space between them was calm. Tobin enjoyed the sharing of breaths. The quiet rise of bird sounds and a still-awakening house like the start of a soundtrack — all strings and bursts of tuning.

A day beginning to play.

Lips snuck against hers; light and somehow happy in their expression. It made her smile. Then Christen smiled. And for a moment, their two smiling mouths just pressed against one another — too caught up in a burgeoning joy to really participate.

But of course, that’s a pretty silly place to linger in and soon they were both laughing, separating.

"Happy birthday, Chris."

Another press of foreheads. "Thanks."

Tobin tightened her arm a bit, bringing their bodies together. It wasn’t building to anything. Nothing but closeness.

Then a squeeze. "You and your mom were really cute."

The eye roll was expected, but so was the grin behind it. "It’s a little cheesy. But I kind of love it."

"No, it was beautiful."

Christen kissed her again, nose lingering to nudge her own. "You’re beautiful."

They shared breath a while longer. Held each other’s bodies close as they let the last of sleep-haze drift back and forth between them like the tide.

Many minutes later, Tobin finally stirred. Settled Christen’s hair behind her ear. "Ready for your first day of 28?"

The smile was beatific. She seriously needed to contemplate bringing a camera to bed if Christen was going to keep springing these little miraculous moments into being.She tried to hold it in her mind instead. Paint it there so she could look at it whenever she needed a reminder of how peace really looked on a face.

"Ready for the rest of my life. Let’s do it."

And with one last kiss, they were off.

* * *

The tan coffee sloshed onto the countertop as Christen _oof-_ ed at her suddenly-compressed abdomen introducing itself to the marble edge. But it was worth it. Worth it for the arms wound low around her and the cheekbone shoved solidly against her back.

" _Christen_. It’s your birthday!"

With a setting down of the mug and a quick removing suck of the caffeinated remnant on her right hand she laughed, winding her arms around the ones still tight around her waist. "It is."

"You’re 28!"

"I am."

"Do you feel old?"

A swat landed on the younger girl’s backside and Christen couldn’t help but giggle at the sudden jolt of the body around her.

"Read the room before you ask a question like that, young one." The woman’s voice was stern but haloed in humor and Mal melted over Christen again.

"But Stacy, Christen’s almost 30!"

With a laugh and spin, Christen turned in the grasp until she could drape her arms over the girl’s shoulders. "Wait a minute! I have two whole years till then!"

"I mean, is it really that different?"

The eyebrows were teasing, and so was the gasp in response. Christen called on her defender in the room: "Mom!"

"Hey, you brought her here."

Some defender.

But the room was light and Christen sighed happily as the girl wrapped around her again, cheek now against her collarbone.

"You’re not old, Chris, I was just playing. You’re a youth! A babe! A—"

"Alright, alright. No flattery needed." Her chin fit perfectly over that little nestling head. "Just the best birthday hugs you’ve got."

Right as Christen’s ribs were beginning to creak, Lindsey walked in. "Awwww, morning hugs!" Then with a half skip and a big smile, she threw herself around Mal’s back, arms going around Christen’s shoulders as she began to rock them all left to right.

Stacy chuckled from the corner. "Just don’t break her, dears. It took a lotta work to make that body right there."

Tobin was the next visitor, moving to set her Bible on the kitchen table and join with Stacy in a bemused lean. "What’d I miss?"

Lindsey was now chanting "mor-ning-hugs, mor-ning-hugs" in a slow dance sway as Mal’s giggles erupted muffled but bright from the seams of the two bodies around her. She was barely visible.

"Mal called Christen old."

"OOOhhhhh," a bit louder to reach — "that’s tough, babe."

The forward glared over, then sniffed primly before picking up the joint sway again with a grin. "I’m still younger than you, Heath!" like a carrier pigeon dive-bombing through the air.

"Funny, though. The kid’s never called _me_ old."

A chirp from the mass. "Well, Christen acts it."

"Excuse me! I am _very_ mature."

An invisible Mal chirped again. "You were skateboarding in a onesie yesterday."

"Who says adults don’t do that!?"

All three women paused their dance to look over at her: Lindsey with a grin, Mallory peeking through two built biceps with a "really?" stare, and Christen shockingly masterful in the single eyebrow raise.

Tobin hid her smile behind her coffee cup. "Touché."

The arm slung around her shoulder squeezed jovial and tight. "Don’t let them get you down. You’re the one who gets to decide what adult Tobin looks like."

"Sigh." (Christen giggled across the room. Who actually _says_ 'sigh'?) "Alas, they are the ones who choose whether to receive it or not. Perhaps I should just save them the trouble and return to Neverland where I can board to my heart’s content." A realization. "Oh! And surf!" But the point was tragedy so she pulled down her pitch and tried to sell it. "Me and all the other lost kids, forgotten by everyone who ever loved them."

A beauteous and airy chuckle drifted over to her played-up, head-hung pout. Suddenly, the weight on her shoulder was gone with a laugh as there was a rush of wind and then, instead, two long arms on either side of her hips, trapping her in a full-set lean against the table. Kisses were sneaking through the veil of hair to pepper her face. "Please, Tobin." Cheekbone. Chin. "You I know I love you." Nose, nose, nose. "You’re wiser than all three of us combined anyway." ("Hey!" echoing from the island). Jawbone. Lip. "Don’t go to Neverland."

A grin, "I don’t know, Christen," breath shaky from the sneaking-in-a-suck lips at her throat. "Sounded like you think I’m pretty juvenile."

(Mal and Lindsey were watching, giggling.)

("I’m going to go check on Channing," from a Stacy feeling a little too close to the action, even as she laughed).

"No, no!" Pecks again, and a slight sputter as Christen tried to remove one long strand of hair from her mouth. Then another kiss to her cheek. "Forgive me! I didn’t mean it!"

"Yes she did, Tobin! She meant it!"

The woman spun with a teasing glare. "Quiet, instigators." Spun again. "Don’t go away. Tell me you’ll stay." Another kiss to the divot right at the end of her eyebrow. Softer: "I want you to stay."

"I don’t know," a finger tapping at her chin. "What do I get in return?"

The body tilted back, head cocked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, that’s how a deal works, right? You get something, I get something?"

Christen’s face looked genuinely curious. Considering. "…What do you want?"

Lindsey and Mal were frozen on the far side of the room.

"Hmmm…" The midfielder leaned back to watch the scene, head pitched in playful consideration. "I’m tempted to say something to be decided later, but I know you don’t like uncertainty. So how about…" and she tugged Christen forward by her shirt, lips pressed to her ear.

_"Mal’s going to think I’m saying something about sex. So play along."_

Christen coughed lightly, leaning in with a grin.

Tobin made a show of whispering loudly in her ear. Then at normal volume — "think that could work?"

Christen returned to a full stand, hands strong on her hips and eyes so bright they could be stars on a clear night. Or hearts like in those long-ago Saturday morning cartoons. Either way, she looked ready to break into fits at any moment in glee, but she composed herself enough to say:

"Maybe if I stretch first."

Tobin’s smile was as wide as the grand canyon.

Squeals erupted instantly. "Ewwww… I don’t wanna know what she just said. Was it dirty?" Mal was full turned into Lindsey’s snort-shaking shoulder now. "Don’t tell me! I know it was dirty. Gross, guys!"

Tobin laughed victoriously, though airy again from Christen’s wet reattachment to her pulse-point. "Well, Mallory, you get to say those sorta things when you’re _old_."

"Ew, ew, ew."

Christen backed up by an inch, nose nudging under Tobin’s jaw softly, even as her voice emerged confident and smug. "I can’t _wait_ till our thirties."

"Annnnd, I’m out." Mal dragged a still grinning and slightly flushed Lindsey from the room as Christen sank against Tobin’s front, conforming into a warm alignment of body planes.

"Oh my god, can we _please_ pull that one against Kelly sometime? She’d lose her mind."

The swaddle of arms held her close. "Who says we have to pretend. I am feeling," she gave one teasing nip at her girlfriend’s ear, " _very_ inspired."

The groan smashed against her throat was both long and dirty. "Oh god, _yes_. Baby. Anything you want."

Tobin couldn’t help but laugh, hand scratching long down the stretch of Chris’s back. "We’ll see about me picking yoga up at first. Gotta get on your level of flexibility it sounds like."Noting the new emptiness of the kitchen, her left hand snuck between their bodies to claim one teasing pinch of Christen’s nipple. The body snapped sharp then slack against her; Tobin’s abs working in overdrive to keep them both up while her hands were occupied. And her ears — that groan was back and she was so wrapped up in feeling it deep in her gut that it took way too long to realize she herself was panting like she’d just finished sprints.

"Fuck. I’ll buy you classes today. What studio in Portland?"

Tobin just grinned, moving into a stand until they were both hugging loosely by the sun-streaming window, Mal and Lindsey appearing cuddled in the hammock outside in the shine.

"We’ll figure it out."

For a long moment there was just a sleepy buzz in the room, Christen wedged between her shoulder and chin breathing.

"I want to spend my thirties with you, Chris."

She could feel the smile-pull of lips against her skin.

"You can claim every decade I have left if you want."

But right then, Cody walked in — stopping in a sudden start — then moving forward again to the coffee-maker with a too-knowing grin. "Morning, ladies."

"Morning, dad."

Tobin felt her pulse stutter, than start to fade to base as Christen slipped away for the next familial wishing of birthday happiness and morning greetings.

Laughs echoed in from the yard and across the kitchen. Channing’s voice was beginning to filter in from the living room. The tall man was singing poorly to his daughter in his arms.

Tobin breathed deeply. Tobin breathed it in.

* * *

_"Maybe you can sign with Portland! Wouldn’t that be epic? You and me, and Tobin, and Allie, and Kling!"_

_"Yeah…"_

_"Lindsey, I know you went straight into the league but most don’t. Mal could go to school."_

_"…Well, sure. She could do that too."_

_"Mallory, I promise you, baby, you don’t have to worry about a paycheck. You’ve been saving and you should go where feels right—"_

_"Can you_ stop _talking about the money!?"_

_"I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about making the best plan for your life!"_

_"For_ _MY life. MINE."_

_"You need to make a decision sometime, Mallory! You need to decide where you’re going and I’m just trying to help."_

_"Why isn’t anyone asking what I want? Why do they keep trying to sell me on what they think is best?"_

_"Wait, Mal, that wasn’t what I was trying to do with Portland. I just thought it’d be cool."_

_"We aren’t trying to force your hand. We’re trying to help you figure out what matters."_

_"No, I — I know."_

_"So what_ matters _to you, Mal? It’s just been this back and forth and I can’t tell! Honey, why has this been so hard?"_

_"This is— I just — I need everyone to —"_

_With a frustrated cry, Mal spun and left the room._

30 minutes later found apologies shared and everyone back in the living room laughing at an old home movie of Christen and Tyler meeting brand new baby Channing. It was easy to slip into the charm and togetherness of it.

But the truth remained; fairy tale days only exist in books.

* * *

Channing and Chris were out having a sister adventure having muttered something about getting their nails done.

Tobin and Lindsey were playing footie on the beach with the dogs.

Cody was at Mrs. Kubrick’s helping her move the new couch to the top floor with her grandson.

Mal and Stacy were prepping the elements of the niçoise for a large late lunch.

"What did your family do for birthdays?"

"Um… I guess if we weren’t at a soccer game or track meet, we were neighborhood party people? There were always a lot of kids on our road so street games and picnics and stuff were pretty common. Bri had a summer birthday too which meant it was always extra epic."

"Was that what you did for your last birthday with them?"

Mal drained the green beans from the boiling pot into the sink. Then poured them immediately into ice water. "No. I had a tournament in Boulder. Dad and I went out to Olive Garden though and he gave me a Nintendo DS. FIFA 15 had just come out and I’d been asking for one all year."

"For the girls it was Gameboys. They could play them in the car for an entire road trip it seemed."

Mal hummed, eyeing the vibrant green of the blanch; swirled the tip of her finger against the fast-melting ice.

"You know…" Stacy’s back was turned and her voice was casual, but Mal could feel the intention of it. "You can come here for the next one if your schedule allows. We’ll fly you out, no matter where you end up. And if it’s UCLA, we can even do dinners on free weekends or breaks. If you want. It’s only 40 minutes after all."

Mal flashed a smile when the older woman glanced over her shoulder, then moved to the cutting board to slice the tomatoes. "That’s sweet."

"Cody and I were talking about converting Tyler’s room for you. She’s got Dirron and the kids, and they’re close enough to stay at their own house normally, even when they visit. You could use it to transition before dorms open." Bright colored vegetables began to take shape on the large platter under Stacy’s hands; a stained-glass tableau of greens and reds and yellows and pink. Only the olives, tomatoes, and the mixing of the dressing at this point remained. "…When do you leave Chicago?"

A gasp erupted from the counter and Stacy spun instantly in the way only mothers can. "Oh sweetheart, I thought we’d trained this out of you already. Are you alright? Is it deep?" the bleeding finger was held aloft, Stacy searching for catastrophic damage.

"No, uh… I think it’s ok."

She’d believe her were it not for the striking largeness of her eyes. The dissociation in them at the sight of crimson flowing down. "Want me to grab the first aid kit?"

The girl came to a little more. Straightened as she leaned towards the paper towel stand. "No, I saw it upstairs. I can do it. I’ll be back."

Napkin wrapped and red around her hand with the cast of a reassuring smile, Mallory left the room as silently as the sun slips into night.

Stacy took a slightly exasperated, but mostly relieved breath.   


Girls and their casual behavior with knives. 

Then she set about cleaning the drops off the stark white of the counter, and returned to plating.

* * *

The rush of the dogs into the kitchen was the first evidence of the two other guest’s return, and Stacy kissed at them loudly, hands needing to stay clean and clear of their sandy fur.

The women were right behind.

"We toweled them off, so they shouldn’t be too bad." They looked rinsed as well, hair damp but already drying in the lack of humidity.

"Thanks, honeys. How was the beach?"

"Awesome." Lindsey hopped on a stool, checking out the salad she’d never heard of before today. "Sand is always great for providing both a workout and fun. Plus," she smirked at her teammate now gulping water from the sink, "I got the drop on Tobin to win, so, great time all around."

"Excuse me!" The midfielder wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, laughing. " _Mo_ was the one to trip me up, which really means we ended in a tie."

"You know defenders are a real thing right?"

"She wasn’t on your team! Outside interference!"

When Tobin leaned back under the faucet again, Stacy slapped a dishtowel at her knee. "There are glasses right in the cabinet."

The woman just laughed, gulping a last few mouthfuls, then evading right as the towel flapped again. "What! I like it this way."

A mutter. "You like not doing dishes is more like it."

The soccer player grinned and smacked one wet kiss on her cheek, Stacy flinching away with an offended gasp.

"Tobin Heath!"

Lindsey grinned, watching Tobin hop to sit on the counter as the two continued to tease each other in a way she’d only ever seen happen with Allie. It was cute.

It wasn’t till she looked for someone to share her grin with that she noticed.

"Where’s Mal?"

Stacy stuck out a lip, hands busy again at an artful lay of the tomatoes in an arch around the platter edge. "Poor thing. Cut herself prepping the salad. She’s upstairs fixing it up I think."

Brown and blue met like magnets.

Lindsey fluttered a silent questioning finger between them, Stacy humming and occupied to the side.

The older player hopped to her feet, hands performing a stretch to the ceiling in a poor play at casual. "I’ll just go check on her. You help Stacy set the table. I think Christen and Channing will be back in 15 or so."

Lindsey swallowed with a nod.

It could be nothing.

It was probably nothing.

* * *

The stairs to the second floor felt longer than usual. The creak on the third step an interruption she forgot to anticipate and Tobin flinched — had to take a moment to pull herself together before inching towards the guest bath.

Did doors normally look this imposing?

She knocked.

"Mal?"

Hope and Dread squabbled in her stomach, each intent on elevating their own interpretation.

_Maybe she already left._

Hope grinned.

"Mal?"

At the still-lasting silence, she tried the handle.

Her heart dropped.

Locked.

_Dread it is._

Lungs fought to expand but the air felt too thin to fill it. "Mal, I know you’re in there. You’ve got to open the door."

A shuffling and a clatter was the last proof she needed.

"Go away, Tobin."

Nails gripped into the painted side of the doorframe as Tobin let her forehead fall lightly to the wood divide. As she sighed. "…You know I can’t do that."

"Go away!"

"Mal…" Tobin swallowed. Felt her stomach twisting in anxiety — whispering to leave.

Fuck that.

Her spine straightened, claiming space just as strongly as her voice now fought to embody. "Open the door or I’m going to get Cody to come take it off."

A silent battle of wills filled the pause.

"Don’t test me on this, Mallory."

The sudden slam of wood meeting wall was jump inducing and Tobin had to fight for her fast-settled face in the aftermath.

Mal was square with the doorway, jaw gritted for battle. "I’m not _doing_ anything. And you can’t just bust in on someone like that."

Tobin ignored her, knocking Mal’s unyielding shoulder with her own as she pushed into the room, eyes on the hunt. "Where is it?"

"Where’s what?"

"Don’t play with me. Where is it?"

The girl just stood there, arms folded and eyes aflame.

_Fine._

The clattering shuffle of the shower curtain revealed nothing; the drawers in the sink held only guest supplies; the medicine cabinet empty but for loose bobby pins and an obviously old travel-sized container of men’s shaving cream.

Light winked off of the metal foot-pedal trashcan on the far side of the toilet like God answered prayer.

Tobin stalked over and stepped.

Her following stare was palpable.

Mal’s attempt at nonchalance was betrayed by the visible gulp moving down her throat. "It’s just a disposable plastic one. I’ll buy them a new pack at CVS."

"That is not even _close_ to the point and you know it." Tobin stalked closer. Lifted a hand. "Pockets."

An impressive scowl.

" _Pockets,_ Mal."

With an audible huff, Mallory reached in and pulled out two tiny blades, holding them up pinched between finger and thumb as her eyes slanted in a _was this what you wanted_ sneer. Then, in a glare as sharp as broken glass, she dropped them into the palm from an inch up, folded her arms again, and slouched against the sink.

Tobin just tucked them in her pocket. 

"Hips."

The young eyes dilated in what was certainly a flush of panic through her nervous system. And even if you hadn’t been looking that closely, the woodenness in her stance would be tell enough.

It broke Tobin’s heart.

But still not the moment for showing it.

"Your hips. Right now." 

A cheek disappeared between the girl’s molars.

"Mal…" okay maybe she could afford just a chink in the armor. Enough to show that she’d still be here on the other side. " _Please_."

The girl sighed, teeth now ravaging her lip as she ran a hand over her hair. But she leaned back a bit more. Pulled her jean shorts down till her hip bones popped out.

The step closer felt like walking to the edge of a cliff. When it didn’t give right away, Tobin couldn’t help the shaky exhale.

She thought there’d be blood.

The tissue wads in the trashcan had been crimson with it and she’d been trying not to let that fact rule this exchange. To not let it induce the panic she very much wanted to sink into. But it must have just been her finger — the one with the bandaid fast around it. She hadn’t had time to do anything other than get the blades out of their plastic frame and Tobin lifted a quick prayer of thanks.

But there _were_ cuts. Still red rather than white. A few still scabbed in a way that meant they could only have happened since they’d landed here in California. Then scattered older ones — in the last month, maybe?

The ledge had crumbled weeks ago and she’d just been too dumb to see it.

"I thought you’d stopped. You told us you’d stopped."

"I had."

She had a well developed set of armor, that much was easy to see.

"Then why’d you start again?"

"It’s none of your business, Tobin." The jean hem dragged up under the leading of quick thumbs, and Tobin flinched as she saw it scrape against still-healing scabs. Knew the likelihood of them opening.

The knowledge boiled low in her gut like a pilot light just waiting to burn the shit out of whatever came close enough to touch.

"Like hell, it’s not!"

Mal scoffed and walked out of the restroom, Tobin tracking close behind, letting her anger propel her because her courage had failed the moment she’d seen the scars.

" _MAL._ " She marched into Tyler’s bedroom, catching the door before it closed from Mal’s heavy push.

The girl sank into a corner chair, pulling her legs up and into her chest, eyes like knives. "It’s my body, Tobin.It makes me feel better and you don’t have the right to make me stop. It’s not like I’m hurting anyone else."

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

This was _real._ This was real and Mal was already back and paying rent in that practically impenetrable city named Rationalization.

Tobin approached, sinking to her knees and claiming a tentative grasp on Christmas-socked feet. "Mal. Honey. It hurts _me."_

 _"_ Well, it’s _my_ body."

"It’s _my_ friend," immediately back, nary a breath in between.

That quieted the girl. Her mouth softened for a long moment.

But then it twisted again; jaw tensed.

 _"_ Still my choice. Everyone acts like it’s wrong and broken or something. But what if it’s right for _me?_ I get to decide that. Not them."

It’s like they were back to square zero.

_Ok, let’s do this._

"What if you found out that Lindsey was hurting herself?"

Her head was still pointed towards the wall; defiant. "I’d think it was her right to live how she wanted. Some people drink. Or workout. Or eat ice cream, or listen to music, or box. She gets to choose."

"Even if you walked in on her bleeding? _Mal_." An obvious eyebrow. "What if she asked you to be there? Imagine, you’re sitting right next to her. Could you really let her put that blade in herself? Let her bleed?"

The eyes were still stones, but she thought she could spy a glint, like light off a mostly-shadowed creek. Tobin pressed on.

"What if it was just because she had a bad game — is that an ok reason?Or what if it was because someone said something about her body? We both know she struggles with that. What if some coach told her to lose weight? Or told her that even if she was the best, she didn’t make the banners because there were prettier girls to get men to buy tickets? She comes home from hearing that and she wants to hurt herself, Mallory. You really think that is a choice you want to let her make?"

"Stop it." Quiet.

"You two have a fight and she’s crying. She locks herself in the bathroom and you know — you _know_ that’s what she’s doing. Even if you’re still angry, even if it had actually been her fault … Mal, you’re telling me you’d let her cut into her hips over you?"

"Stop."

"What if it was her wrists?"

" _STOP!"_ She’d spun to face her — cheeks red and sclera storm-veined.

Tobin sat back on her ankles; slipped her hands off of the dancing penguins that were low-key giving her cognitive dissonance right now. "There. You see?"

God, she felt like a dick. This sucked so much.

"Mallory, right now you think it’s something you want. Maybe even something you deserve. But baby, I’m looking at you and I am _breaking."_ Even her voice cracked and Tobin prayed it wouldn’t distract. Wouldn’t weaken what she was trying to say. "Mal, please. Can’t you see how worthy you are? How _special?"_

The silence was a tightrope and Tobin wondered if she’d successfully crossed.

Then barely a whisper. "It’s not fair. You did it until you decided to stop. No one made you, Tobin. You got to stop when you _wanted_." Wet eyes looked away. "I should have never told anyone on the team at all."

"Mal…" Tobin sighed. "Mal, I praise _God_ that you told us."

The girl pulled her knees closer to her chest. Rested her chin on them.

_She really thinks this is worse. She thinks it would have been easier._

Tobin risked a touch again. Put her hands back on Mal’s feet. Inhaled when they stayed still, letting her remain. "I told you no one knew."

The silence continued but eyes snuck a glance. There was just a hint of spark - of curiosity, and Tobin held fast to that opening.

"When I went home… when I told my mom about being gay." Swallowed. "She told me she’d always known. About the cutting."

A lip sucked in between the girl’s teeth.

"Do you see that, Mal? My mom knew her 14 year old daughter was cutting into her own body… and decided it was my _choice._ She said the relief it gave me let me function better and ' _who was she to take it away_?' I thought no one knew. But my mom did. My _mother_ , Mallory."

"I’ve imagined it — since she told me." Tobin settled into a seat on the floor, elbows on her knees. Threaded a hand through the just-still-lingering wet of her hair. "This one time… I was part of a carpool for my club team. 15. Practice had ended and I was at Erin Lawsey’s house; my mom would pick me up in an hour or two. But we were up at her room and she’d taken a shower because we’d been sweating, right? And she’d just come back in. This dark hair, wet over her shoulder. Towel."

Her fingers wound absently through a damp lock close to her neck, squeezing out a drop there. A strange sort of remembrance.

"And I’d turned around to let her change. But then she said my name. I turned thinking she was done and… she was still turned around but she didn’t have a top on. Just this…" a sigh, "long expanse of her back. An arm across her front and the other one lifting her hair off her neck. And like it was the most normal thing in the world she asked if I could hook her bra. Then she just… waited."

Tobin breathed. Scratched her hand in her hair.

"So, I did. I stepped up and … I closed it. Had to — to touch her back to do it. It was _so_ overwhelming. The smell of her shampoo. The muscles flexing. How smooth her skin was and the drops of water dripping down it. The fact that I had my hand on her bra — that my knuckles couldn’t help but brush the bumps of her spine. I…" a frustrated noise left her nose, horse-like. "I actually pretended I couldn’t get it the first time." 

She pulled her hands out of her hair. Looked the younger woman straight in the face. "I wouldn’t call it what it was then, but — we _know_ what that was, Mal. And somewhere in me, I did then too."

The eye contact broke.

"When I got home that night, I waited till after dinner and then I went into the bathroom. It was the deepest I ever cut. Scared myself, honestly. I had to get in the tub because it was so much — too much and too fast. I almost called for help, it was so much. But then I thought about it and… I thought maybe that’s what was _supposed_ to happen. Or, even if that’s not what God wanted, it still had to be better than them _knowing_ and me having totell them why _._ So, I let it bleed." The smallest shudder ripped across her back. "And it _did. So_ long. Opened up anytime I moved wrong for days. It probably needed stitches but I did my best, you know? I can show you exactly which scars it was even now."

Mal finally moved. Slipped her right hand down to put just one finger in the fall of Tobin’s hair; smoothed down the lock with her thumb.

It was enough for Tobin to brave looking again.

"Mal, that wasn’t about healing. That wasn’t about putting myself together again. That was… that was _shame._ That was a child, terrified by what she found in herself. Terrified by something she didn’t understand. We tell ourselves it helps, and in a way it does. You and I both know that. It quiets things. But Mal, that’s not _healing_. And when I found out that my mom _let_ me… that she called it my choice? Just a bit further that night and my sister would have found me _dead in a tub_ , Mal."

Tobin could feel the heat building behind her forehead - her cheeks.

"She let me — she let me be totally alone _._ Alone in that bathroom when she _knew._ And that," a realizing breath, "that might have been worse than her not accepting my sexuality. I knew that was a risk. But to realize that she — that she —" Tobin couldn’t help it. She started crying.

_Shit. SHIT._

"Toby."

Her head was shoved in her knees, back shaking in little breaths and heaves.

Mal let her feet slip down to the ground so she could lean over — smoothed her hair again. "Toby, I’m sorry."

_Pull it together, Tobin. This isn’t about you._

Tobin rubbed her eyes against her forearm. Propelled her forehead against the girl’s knees instead, hair still a hanging veil.

"Mallory, I can’t — please don’t hurt yourself. Please? _Please?"_ It was almost squeaked, caught in the ravages of her throat. Her head knocked against the knee again, tears successfully hidden from view maybe, but nothing could hide the wet drip of them down the girl’s shins, curving around the back of her calves until they met those damnably anachronistic socks. "I can’t watch it. I — I _love_ you, Mal. I can’t — Mal, _please_."

Mallory slid off the front of the chair, shoving herself in the gap of upholstery and legs until her feet could thread through the bend of Tobin’s knees. "You deserved better, Tobin. I’m sorry."

Tobin fell into the circle of the girl’s open arms, coming to a clasp around her back as her head sank to the girl’s chest.

She couldn’t hear her inner voice if she _wanted_ to right now. It was nothing but static.

"My _mom_ , Mal."

"I know."

"She—" it was almost a moan. Choked. "Her body _made_ me. How could she let—"

"I don’t know, Toby."

Tobin threw her arms around the girl now. Held her tight. "I wish you had your mom, Mal. I wish you could tell her and see how much she loved you. See how she’d protect you. Like Chris and her mom. It should be like _that._ It should have been like _that._ "

"Shhh."

A sob. "I’m sorry you can’t have her still. I’m sorry we’re failing you. I’m sorry."

"Shhh." The weight around her back gripped harder, fighting for comfort. "You’re not failing anything. You’re one of my favorite people in the world."

Tobin tried to pull away but Mal kept her close; arms tight and unrelenting. She wondered at this eighteen year old who could hold her. Who had barely moved at her thrashing and how _weak_ that means Tobin must be right now. It made her want to curl in shame. To get away. "Mal, this is about _you_. This is supposed to be about _you_."

"It can be both of us."

Struggled again, and unsuccessfully. The girl was immovable in her comfort — body wrapped and strong as vines on a shed. " _Mal._ "

"It’s ok."

And suddenly it was. Suddenly Tobin felt like she could show it all. Feel it all. And it came in like a train. Like that tired shed finally giving in to gravity and time. Like a stone sinking sure into the black sheen of midnight water, straight and inexorable through the wet until finally, it could find itself again; feel its weight on the submerged floor. To not be frightened of the body it was in, but part of it.

The girl held Tobin until the tears had completely finished. Until Tobin was breathing even again, eyes red and a bit embarrassed when she finally sat up fully.

"You good?"

"Yeah." Tobin sniffed, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Sorry."

"Don’t be sorry. No one but your mom should be sorry."

A twist of the mouth. "I still love her, Mal. I can’t help that."

"It’s more than she deserves." The voice was hard, but the following sigh was soft. It melted into the next words. "But exactly what I’d expect from you."

Tobin let her heart receive it. Let it all exist at once, contradictory yet true. But it also led her to what came next. " _You_ deserve love, Mal. Real love." She felt the bony notches of the girl’s knee, smoothed it, grateful to have the warmth of the body so close to her own.

That Mal let her be there at all.

"Please. Will you tell me what’s going on? Let me help you."

The brown head fell back onto the chair seat as world-weary eyes shuttered closed. "I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it."

"But it’s hurting you."

"I don’t know if you can make it not hurt, Tobin." The soft resignation of it made Tobin almost wish for the recalcitrant Mal of 20 minutes ago — at least she’d shown fight.

"Maybe not. But I can be with you through it."

"I…" her eyes were still closed but the sigh was a different quality. 

_They were close to it then._

"It’s about Christen."

_Oh._

_Yeah, that was unexpected. That’s…_

"Has she… has she done something?"

"No."

"Said something?"

A shake. "No, no, she’s great. She’s — she’s so good to me."

"I don’t understand."

"I think…" she sighed, eyes finally opening again. "I think I need to talk to her first. She deserves that."

_Ok. I can work with that._

"Great, well let’s go get her."

Her attempt at rising was halted by a hand at her wrist, pulling her back to a sit. "Tobin, please don’t. It’s her birthday."

"She’d _want_ you to talk to her. She’d want to hear."

" _Please."_ The brown was pleading, tinged with desperation that swirled like coffee doused with cream. "Can we just… can we wait? I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Really."

Tobin was silent but stiff. Considering.

"I promise I will."

"But are you going to be ok till then?"

A huff as shoulders readjusted against the chair edge, having stayed wedged long enough to bridge into discomfort. "Yeah, I’ll keep it together."

"Mal…"

"I _won’t_."

The girl’s face was stern but there was still such a haunting softness about her. Tobin wanted to surround her in bubble-wrap until that hint of weakness was unreachable by every sharp thing in the world. "I need to know you’re safe, Mal. I can’t … I can’t risk you not being safe."

A lined forehead surrendered to gravity against the midfielder’s kneecap. "I promise, Tobin. I promise. Nothing will happen until Christen and I talk."

A call echoed up the stairs, unintelligible, but probably for lunch.

She scratched at Mal’s neck — thread through the baby soft wisps there until she could fill her lungs again. "Ok." She filled them again, finally gathering enough oxygen to minister to the tense places in her body. "Ok." One more light scratch and then a kiss against her head. "Until you talk."

Honestly, this conversation made Tobin feel like she’d been hit by a truck.

But twin rumbles reminded her that it hadn’t been enough to stop body processes.

"Lunch?"

Mal smiled. Just a hint.

Then she nodded.

"Lunch."

* * *

Lindsey had cast a worried glance at the smaller girl as she slipped into the chair next to her and Christen at Tobin’s red eyes, but serving plates and pleasantries slipped into a rhythm soon enough, everyone relaxing into the now familiarly crowded table dynamics.

"My family always did morning gifts, but we haven’t yet. Do we give presents at dinner?"

"If you have one, you can give it to Christen whenever you like. But actually, Lindsey, we don’t normally do birthday gifts in this family. Well — not exactly. The girls get one physical gift of their choice."

"Within reason," Cody chuckled to his wife.

…There was probably a story there.

"Within reason" she conceded, "and Chris has already received that." Tobin glanced over at her girlfriend, curious at the light blush on her cheeks as Stacy chatted on. "But the true gift is making a donation. It’s $50 dollars per years of life."

"So, Christen is at…" Cody’s eyes slipped closed for a half-second, then popped open. "$1400. Where’s it gonna be, baby? Local sports scholarships again? SPCA?"

Those perfect cheeks flushed again and Tobin wondered if she could catalog all the different shades because this one was lighter than before. Perhaps each had its own meaning in the pantheon of motivations Christen kept wrapped around her heart.

"Actually, if Mallory was ok with it, I thought I’d send it to her old group home. Ask them to earmark it for birthday gifts for the kids there." Green eyes flickered to the startled face. "I meant to ask you later how you felt."

"That’s…" Mal swallowed, especially when Tobin’s foot rested solidly against hers from across the table, the brown eyes warm and safe. "That’s actually a really cool idea, Chis."

A relieved smile. "Great. I’ll walk dad through the process tomorrow. And you’re welcome to put in a letter too, if you like. I’m sure they’d love to hear from you."

"Most of my friends aged out in the last few months actually but…" a worn little book in her nightstand in Chicago came to mind. It had been hard to understand at times, but many lines had glowed like embers in the night. Both light and warm at times when she felt the opposite. "If you think it’s possible, I think I’d like to write to Mrs. Washington."

The green sparked gold from the inside, matching the radiance of Christen’s face. "Of course, baby."

"Sounds like a plan then, ladies. We’ll put it all together before you leave."

Tobin could see the emotion on Mallory’s face; a mix of affection and overwhelmed. "That’s a really cool way to do gifts."

Eyes turned to her instead and Mal’s foot tapped once at her own in thanks before pulling away.

"It was really fun when we were younger," piped from the end of the table. "Mom and Dad would help us think through things we cared about and then teach us how to look up organizations online."

Cody chuckled. "Worked most of the time. Though, Channing, I do seem to remember a year where you insisted buying the new Gossip Girl books was a great way to support female authors."

The sigh was long-suffering, "Almost worked too."

Lindsey giggled, hand wound into Mallory’s under the table. "What happened instead?"

"They donated it all to the local library. Then they registered me for a check-out card _and_ a summer’s worth of volunteer hours."

Her sister’s grin was wicked — "it was where you met your first boyfriend though."

"UG, DON’T REMIND ME." Channing was made for the stage. Her dramatic collapse against her chair was pure comedy. "Johnny Ramos. What a cutie." She clutched her chest. "Broke my heart when he dumped me for Jenny Baxter at Homecoming."

Mal snorted and Lindsey startled back to her face, grinning at the engagement. "Johnny and Jenny?"

"Disgusting, right? Lasted all the way through junior year too." Channing jumped to attention, her broken heart forgotten. "Oooh, wait, _stories_. How was everyone’s high school dance experiences?!"

The chatter picked up again in a flurry of laughed and rued memories of boys with ponytails, or who refused to dance, or whose parents had to drive them because of failed driver’s tests. Even Cody got in on it, sharing about Lisa Turkhurst who _finally_ said yes and then the dance was cancelled in 20 minutes anyway when a stiletto went through another girl’s foot, the school requiring evacuation to clean up the blood. ("Ewww, dad!") ("That’s it. I’m wearing steel-toes to every dance from now on.") ("Or you could be the one to wear stilettos…") ("Well that’s… only slightly evil.") ("Maybe you can host the dances and require shoelessness.") ("Pretty sure the word you’re looking for is 'bare feet'.") ("Potato, tomato.") ("No, it’s supposed to be the same word.") ("Oh. Cool, thanks. 'Potato, potato.'") ("No, they’re supposed to sound _different_.")("Linds, I think she’s just teasing you.")

" _So what was your gift this year_?"

Christen leaned into the whisper with a smile, pressing a quick kiss to the brunette’s perfect mouth.

_"It’s a surprise. But don’t worry. We’re going to see it soon."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley: Wouldn’t it be weird if vegetables were actually sentient and could feel things when we ate them?  
> Becky: Kelley, repeat after me.  
> Becky:  
> Kelley: But you aren’t saying anything...  
> Becky: Exactly.
> 
> \---
> 
> *this is the fic that never endssss, yes it goes on and on my friends! One day I started writing it, I thought I knew the plot. But when I hit the ending all you showed me I had not, for this fic will never enddddd, yes it goes on and on my friends!* 
> 
> \--- 
> 
> Hit me with some love or a favorite line and I'll probably post the next chapter in an overflow of euphoria within the week tbh.


	14. Bumps in the Road - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin learns what Christen received for her birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abby: Hey Sam. How’s your morning?  
> Sam: Rose just asked me what my favorite color was, then told me I was wrong.  
> Abby: So… normal then?  
> Sam: It’s nice to have things we can depend on.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to you 17Tobin_preath23 because there I was, minding my own business on a "Looking for a fic" post (cuz good recs right?) and you had GUESSED MY STORY. Not even correct (tough draw, fam) but Y’ALL THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME I EVER SAW SOMEONE MENTION SOMETHING I HAD WRITTEN AND THIS MAY BE SMALL TO YOU BUT MY HEART FLIPFLOP WHIPWHOP HIPHOPPED ITS WAY INTO NEPTUNE.
> 
> P.S. You may want this later: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRjllL-MP0U

The house belonged on the cover of a magazine. Or maybe in a movie. You know, like the opening scene in James Bond where it’s romantic and perfect with girl #1 before the blowing up starts and she’s tragically killed by someone who turns out to be connected to the bad guy? Oh! It could be the setting for one of those cooking shows that actually make you believe you could bake a mixed-berry pavlova before you realize you don’t even grocery shop once a week and you’ve had oatmeal packets for 5 breakfasts straight.

Point was, it was a _vision._

The sun was just starting its show of setting when they pulled into the private drive. Pinks and oranges flung about like flags above the wood and whites of the so-much-more-than-a "beach-cottage" as Christen had called it while punching in the security code at the gate, and Tobin knew — she just _knew —_ the most glorious rose had to be tinting the ocean on the other side.

One step in the door and she could tell she was right. The entire far side of the house may as well have been one large pane of glass and you could see everything; the beach sheltered by privacy walls almost all the way to the water, the waves cresting citrus in the stunning light show, a patio with loungers and hanging chairs and a fire pit made for a late-summer night.

It actually took her a moment to see the room itself which is when the magazine fantasy began.

If this house wasn’t 2 million dollars she’d eat that magazine herself.

The ceiling was easily 20 feet and the whole place was open-concept. A gleaming kitchen flowed backwards into the dining space against the far glass-lined wall, both of them opening off the right down two steps into a living room with a sunken conversation pit she’d call retro if it weren’t the most clean-lined mahogany, white-cushioned setup she’d ever seen. Beyond that was a free standing length of wall with a fireplace open to both sides acting as a simple barrier to the master bedroom. It didn’t even fully close it off — just provided the sense of security. But, even so, Tobin could see part of the massive bed from where she stood and a jacuzzi just feet away from it. The only closed space in the entire house was a corner off the right side of the bedroom — the bathroom she imagined. …Though, "corner" felt unfair: it was still a far larger footprint than any bathroom she’d ever seen, and she’d been to the _White House_.

All in all, the setup was obvious.

This was not a house for a family.

This…

This was a getaway for _lovers_.

The far table was already set and somewhere in Tobin’s staring Christen had moved to light the candles — tall thin white ones that offered more ambience than light. Something smelled delicious and she spied a covered pot on the stove, clearly simmering in anticipation for a meal.

Christen walked back from the table, hesitant almost but smiling.

Anxious-joy.

"Do you like it?"

Tobin spun in place, trying to catch it all again. Everywhere she looked there was some other feature to drool over. The belt-and-pulley fan cutting large strong-lined angles against the ceiling; as much a work of art as functional equipment. The clearly original paintings hung sparsely on the walls but all the more highlighted for their scarcity. A rich cream throw so visibly soft Tobin wanted to shove her face into it was draped like fog on the couch against the eastern wall. Then, feet away, a grand piano. Even the out-of-season lilies on the front entrance table had set the scene, perfume gracing the air in sweet waves.

Tobin wasn’t hurting for money but she certainly hadn’t stayed in a place like this before. This was next level luxe like only old money, Hollywood, or Silicon Valley could achieve. Maybe the Godfather? Or embezzlers.

Could legitimately be James Bond.

"Christen… this is _incredible."_

The woman beamed at the still-slow-spinning feet and dropped jaw. It was exactly what she’d been hoping for.

"It belongs to a high school friend, Nima. It’s his second home and he’s constantly trying to get me to use it. Says someone should." She blushed. "Mom and dad have been helping me get together what I needed all week. And Channing helped me set it up for us this afternoon."

Tobin paused her sightseeing to level a smirk and a drawl. "I thought you were getting manicures, Ms. Press. Not lounging in a set for 90210."

"We did." Christen dipped a flirty little curtsy, waggling her new french tip. Though… the nails were _significantly_ shorter than Christen used to keep them and Tobin’s stomach swirled in an exquisite rush. The woman-turned-predator stalked closer, fingers hooking in the midfielder’s belt loops and pulling their hips flush. "…But that doesn’t take 3 hours, Tobin."

"I don’t know. I’ve never been." Tobin tried not to let the pounding of her heart show. Kept her voice vague, even as she knocked her hips against Christen’s once more. Pretended not to notice the satisfied gasp; the lip-bite leveled near Tobin’s belt buckle."It’s a big mystery — who knows how long it could take!"

"We’ll go sometime. It’s pretty peaceful actually." A long kiss, soft and searching (and masterfully treading the line of sensual) against her mouth. When she pulled away, it was just enough to speak, lips practically glancing against Tobin’s. "This house is all ours tonight. Tomorrow too if we want." Another kiss, ending with the lightest suck of Tobin’s bottom lip who chased it until Christen stopped her with a nudge of the nose. "So, what do you want to do first?"

_I don’t mind this happening longer._

But there were so many locations _to_ kiss and this property was begging to show them off.

So, first things first. The brunette pulled back, eyes glancing beyond the woman’s shoulder before rebounding with a gleam and a grin.

"Beach."

* * *

After changing in the master bath ("Christen, there is a literal sauna in here! Look!") the two ran to the still-tangerine surf, toes digging into the sand and waves kissing their calves.

The smell of salt filled her senses and Tobin looked up to tell Christen how ama—

But her brain couldn’t even finish the sentence.

This woman was _radiant._

Rose-orange glinted off the lines of her body; the two marking the boundary of either side of her abdomen, muscled and smooth all at the same time; the shadow flex of her tricep as the sun skated perpendicular across her arm; the cord in her neck; the —

Tobin’s heart did that double drop. The one where it feels like the floor just fell out from under it with a Richter-worthy concussion off that first noticing beat because —

She couldn’t even swallow —

… her _thighs._

Christen’s thighs were — _breathe, Tobin_ — they were —

Suddenly she was back in Malibu watching photographers capture the naked power of this body. The _force_ wound and waiting in those hamstrings; in her quadriceps, in her glutes.

Tobin’s heart toppled off the next rib, landing somewhere near her pelvis.

_I._

_Am._

_So._

_Gay._

Her eyes tracked up the dim illumination of her girlfriend’s spine, the adjustment of her shoulders, the sunset-fire of her neck that was — _shit, pull it together_ — turned towards her.

Tobin looked up.

Christen was a mirror and Tobin gasped with it. Everything she had just felt was shining equal and unfiltered through those green eyes.

The mirror’s pupils grew until the earlier iris was just a crescent moon at the edge. It widened its already opened mouth. It inhaled like air had just been invented and its lungs were still learning what it meant to breathe.

It trembled as if this were the first utterance it had ever found worthy of speech.

"You’re beautiful." An incoming rush of water turned her shins into stained glass. "I — I keep thinking I know it but," the slow survey of Tobin’s body would easily be named lust were it not for the eyes widened far more like wonder than wander, "…then there’s a moment like," a shaky inhalation and a hand gestured in helpless witness, "…this."

 _Tobin_ should be the one saying this. Confessing this. But all she could manage was to swallow the saliva that had built till she could choke on it with one too-careless inhale.

Not that she’d mind this being the last thing she saw in life.

It was everything.

It was —

It was too _much_. She felt too _much._

Tobin took a step back and, in one innately childish impulse, her foot hit the water in a long-ball strike, leaving Christen gasping and huddled with the sudden cold.

She stared blankly at Tobin, dripping.

Tobin froze in an assessing panic…

And then outright _grinned._

"Ohhhhh, Tobin Heath, you don’t even know what you’ve started."

Half a second later, that weapon of a body steamrolled her middle, launching them both with a resounding crash to the surf. Tobin squealed with laughter as Christen grappled her shoulders in an attempted dunk. But with a twist and a a brief submergence, Tobin caught her around the waist, hauled her up out of the water in a backwards lean, and tossed her even further in.

The woman came up sputtering in a startled, then gleefully wicked smile.

The game was afoot.

* * *

The last of the light finally winked then waved goodbye to the drenched women, Christen now nestled in the cradle of Tobin’s arms, back to front and skin to barely-covered skin as they sat in the edge of the surf.

Her support nudged a cold nose into Christen’s neck, one hand caressing at the smooth stretch just below her navel. "As beautiful as this is, I know you run on a schedule. You must be hungry, babe."

She craned back, twisting till she could lay a kiss — right at the bend of Tobin’s jaw.

"I am. But 5 more minutes. We’re in the blue hour."

Tobin looked out at the layered shades of night. The deeper not-quite-black of the ocean, the luminescent shimmer of the namesake blue occupying every space around them. The lunar glint off of Christen’s dark mane and the even smaller moonlight flecks off the fine, normally-undetectable hairs still wet on her abdomen.

Christen shivered, then dragged Tobin’s other arm tight against her chest; kissing it before settling even further into the warmth of the surrounding frame.

Yeah. 5 more minutes would be just fine.

* * *

Tobin wished Christen had told her to bring a change of clothes. The slacks and button up she’d had her put on before coming were great. But the dress Christen had just changed into…

Tobin couldn’t believe the detail she’d put into this. How much she’d clearly thought about every step of this night.

It was ankle length, silk, with one long slit stretching toward the start of her thigh, stopping just far enough away to not meet indecency. It was only one layer — a wrap style, so every curve felt like she was seeing the exact contours of Christen’s naked body. Only the boldly printed dye of it kept it from scandal. It was royal blue with large tropical red flowers scattered across it, gold stamens catching your eye as they winked from behind the arching petals.

It was a dress for a runway and, yet, somehow softened into beach glamour by the lack of any shoes. With her hair still damp and loosening into broad curls, the whole effect made Tobin understand why wars had been fought over women like this.

"It’s cioppino. And there’s bread for the broth afterwards. It’s one of my favorite parts."

"It smells amazing."

Christen flushed, the pink just discernible through the candlelit glow, a dimmer switch melting warm yellows in the farther living space till it was an oil canvas backdrop; Rembrandt-like in chiaroscuro.

"Thanks. I’ve made it before, but, I’ll be honest — Channing mostly handled this one. She’s actually a really talented chef. I think it was all that time at home after I left for college. It became something for her and mom to do."

"Honestly, it sorta seems like _my_ birthday today. I feel like I need to thank her for the gift."

Slender fingers wove into Tobin’s from across the table, manicure still perfect sliver moons against the fire-lit almond of her hands. Against the tan of Tobin’s own.

"No, this is exactly what I wanted for today. You enjoying it is the gift." The flush lingered in her cheeks even as she pulled away. "We haven’t really gotten time alone. I love being home, but I’ve wanted this. Just to be with you. Talking just us."

"I’ve wanted that too."

The younger woman’s duck and smile could light a room. Who even needs Rembrandt?

"Do you — um, do you want to pray for us? Before we eat?"

The low-lidded lift of Christen’s eyes was tentative, but so willing to learn.

Tobin swooned. "Yeah, I’d love that."

* * *

Like, literal chocolate-covered strawberries.

Christen had made everything perfect.

And dinner had been so much more comfortable than the somewhat luxe setting would have led Tobin to expect. Instead, they’d slipped easily into what had made them easy in the first place. Reminiscing into the most random of topics. Deep musings on world politics and the slippery slope it felt like America had launched itself onto with this last election. Sharing notes on teams they saw actually becoming threats as women’s soccer finally started getting some of the recognition and funding it deserved globally.

And then, sewing it all together was the make-your-abs-ache laughs through teased jokes and playful ribbing towards debates — both of them thriving on competition to have gotten as far in sports as they had. But these were the kind it felt safe to lose. Or permanently disagree on. Like, how Christen _actually_ thought the sugarless cookies they got at team meals tasted the same. Or whether or not 2000’s pop music was worthy of missing. Or, the one they’d surely take to the grave before meeting in the middle: whether Twilight movies could be enjoyed for their ridiculousness, or, if a computer code should be designed purely to erase them from every digital platform or download or… _dark web_ cave they’d lurked into. Tobin insisted that it was for the good of the world.

When that particular comment emerged, Christen pouted, then, degree by slow degree, morphed Cheshire Cat.

Tobin, broth-drenched bread frozen in her hand, felt her core tremble at whatever lay on the other side of this terrifying stop-motion animation.

"Whatever…"

_Well that wasn’t so bad. This sounded like the start to a playground taunt! Amateu—_

"…spider monkey."

_…Wha—_

Like pink elephants, the scene popped up on the theater of her brain instantly and fully unwanted.

"NOPE. NO. THAT WILL NOT BE A THING THAT’S HAPPENING."

Christen’s hands cupped her own cheeks; wide-eyed and simpering. "Oh, Tobin! You’re impossibly fast, and strong! Your skin is pale white and" — "NO IT’S NOT" — "ice cold. Your eyes change color and sometimes you speak like ... like you’re—"

"WANTING THIS CONVERSATION TO STOP?"

A fist slammed the table. "Say it. Out loud. Say it!"

"You’re switching characters! This isn’t even a good argument! You’re just quoting things, Christen!"

The woman in question leaned forward, hands now clenched at the table edge, pupils shining in the flickering candlelight. With one shaky breath and wild eyes she whispered…

" _Vampire."_

Tobin slouched so far she was eye level with the table, groaning as giggles erupted from the other side.

"And here I thought we were having a good night."

"Oh, I’m having a _great_ one."

When Christen finally pulled it together enough to hide her glee over Tobin’s still slumped and moaning state, she cooed that she had a treat. Thus arrived the aforementioned strawberries from the fridge.

Placebo or panacea, Christen didn’t know, but it proved effective in bringing her girlfriend back to life.

"…Fine. I guess these are sufficient enough to make me forget our _wild_ incompatibility on this matter."

It would have been pithier but Tobin’s voice tripped in the middle, eyes too caught up in Christen’s long finger that had just been tucked in her mouth, emerging slow and sucked to remove some chocolate remnant. It didn’t even look like Christen knew what she was doing.

"So I’ll," her voice cracked and the brunette grimaced, hoping Christen had missed it. "I’ll give you a pass … for right now."

The spark in Christen’s eye told her the woman had _not_ missed it. She slipped her thumb into her mouth next; the lapping tip of a tongue, then teeth. And through it all, green eyes locked and quirked in a palpable, if obscured, smirk.

Tobin cleared her suddenly arid throat. Dried her palms against her slacks.

"So… what’s next?"

And just like that, the air was clear again, Christen only smiling shyly.

"Actually, I did have one request. A birthday gift from you, sort of."

Tobin’s voice was tentative, tiptoeing through syllables as she tried to keep from cracking again, body still trapped in the heatwave of 90 seconds ago. "Oh? What’s that?"

Christen’s eyes drifted across the living room, Tobin tracking her gaze.

_Oh._

"You want me to play piano?"

The nod was hope under restraint, eyes eager and bright. "Only if you want to. But… I’ve been thinking about it since you told me. I never learned an instrument and… well, I kind of just wanted to watch."

It had been years.

It had been years, and she normally didn’t share this.

But, if she was honest, this piano — I mean, come on! It was a gilded Bechstein grand! — had been calling to her since she’d seen it.

And Christen looked so youthful, somehow, in her wanting.

"Ok." Tobin nodded to herself. Then looked over at the beautiful item again. "Yeah. Let’s do it."

10 minutes and a cleared table later, she was seated at the bench, fingers stroking lightly at the ivory keys. She’d forgive it for that — anything before 1950 would be the same.

She let just her thumb depress on middle C. It was both clear and flawless, the sound so resonant she could practically feel the hum in the strings. "It’s been tuned."

Christen’s bashful hum made her turn, the slight suck of her lip between her teeth as clear as the note.

"Yeah, that was my gift actually. I mean, I didn’t even know you could play until last night. But first thing this morning I asked dad — right after you left the kitchen, actually — and I don’t know what it took him to get someone to come out before tonight, but… well, all I know is I’m grateful."

A chord, pianissimo, wavered into the air.

Once this had been how she worshipped God. It was one of the few activities that her mom had let her do other than soccer — some comment From a trainer once about how music helped players learn rhythm and patterns on the field. 3 days later they had a (far cheaper than this) family piano. She’d found it at an estate sale which was actually pretty dark when you thought about it, but the used Kohler&Campbell upright had stood faithfully in their sitting room ever since, ushering Tobin to it whenever things got too heavy. When words didn’t seem to come easy enough. When she had another report card shoved in the depths of her bag. When her stomach was all mixed up at another date with Trey that never lived up to what friends said it would.

Sometimes, at night, she wouldn’t play it at all. Just sit there with her fingers on the keys, writing nocturnes in her head to cover up the static drone of her subconscious after cutting. To replace it with something more.

"Tobin?"

"Hm?" _Oh, right._ "Um… what do you want?"

"I don’t know."

Tobin’s hair lifted off her shoulder, Christen’s grazing fingers rescuing the lock that had slipped under the unbuttoned collar to her chest below before smoothing it all down onto her back.

Tobin shivered, dream-like and woozy in the blue yellow glow of the cavernous room. Probably great for acoustics though. 

"…Something you like. Something that makes me feel something."

 _All_ music should make you feel something.

But she thinks she understood.

The keys were so smooth under her dragging fingertips. So ready to manifest themselves into sound. Tobin could hear that familiar melody already. "…You know, this was Debussy’s favorite type of piano. He said you should only write music if you’re writing for these."

The hand played at her hair again, just lifting strands and pulling lightly down, arranging them like flowers. "Him then. If you like."

"I … I might not remember it all. But this is one I played a lot."

Muscle memory surged through the flex of her fingers. Potential energy sparked in every primed tendon.

She settled her hands, and took a breath.

> _It began with the little hills, up and down. Then that clear ringing note, and another, higher than the hills had been and scattered, bright like stars coming out. Then weaving, like a dream. The good kind, when the world is sort of hazy and nothing is too sharp or too real._
> 
> _But then the melancholy snuck in, her left hand dropping to bring in the lower octaves. A pedaled soft to it, but the tension could still be felt, even in the velvet._
> 
> _Then the stars won for a while, dancing even._
> 
> _But heavens move and the earth’s rim pulled them back into shadow._
> 
> _The last minute was like a goodbye. One more weaving melody until those paired notes, scaling through the white and black like fingers dragging over and against a face, again and again, memorizing before they lost their chance._
> 
> _And then the final chord, covering like cloud over one last walk up the hill._
> 
> _There was no descent. Just wavering off into the blue._
> 
> _Her foot stayed on the leftmost pedal until the note was just a whisper._
> 
> _Just a whimper._
> 
> _Then — she was never sure if it felt more like mourning or freedom — release._
> 
> _Somewhere upstairs furniture shifted._
> 
> _"Tobin, is that you? How was training? Did you fix that left foot cross situation yet? I swear, I’m firing Jason if he can’t do his job."_
> 
> _Footsteps echoed through the top hallway, moving towards the stairs._
> 
> _With a lingering glance heavy with apology, Tobin grasped the melody still swirling through her chest and pushed it under the fallboard, carefully inching it shut till the music and keys resigned themselves to the familiar dark._
> 
> _Turning around on the bench, her hip shrieked against its elastic band reminding her of last night._
> 
> _She let the pain wash her clean; let it course through her body till every single thought was swept to someone else’s shore to deal with. (Don’t look at it, Don’t look, Don’t look!). No, there was nothing left in her now but emptiness._
> 
> _Blessed emptiness._
> 
> _(Never look.)_
> 
> _She took a breath._
> 
> _"…Yeah, mom, it’s me!"_

  
"Tobin… you’re crying."

"Hm?" Her heart startled but her body felt slow — dragging. It was only when Christen’s thumb pulled across her cheek that she noticed the wet. "Oh."

The concerned face moved to her level, Christen slipping her leg through the silken slit until she could straddle the bench, left hand coming to grasp Tobin’s own.

"It’s — um— it’s just the song. It…" but her brow twisted into confusion and she looked at the woman next to her, unsure what to do.

"It was beautiful." Another swoop of her thumb. "What’s it called?"

"Rêverie. Though this particular composition is by," she searched through her memory, grasping for it. "Thiollier, I think."

The waves crashed low and rolling, invisible through the black of the now total night.

"You don’t cry a lot." It was tentative. Both telling and asking. "The church. In Rio. I think that’s the only time I ever actually…"

It took a moment to consider, but she realized it was true. For all the times she’d cried in the last four months — Christ, the last two _days —_ none of them had actually been with Christen.

Something in her was whimpering at this and she didn’t know if it was desire or dread.

"Yeah, it doesn’t happen a lot. But," in the stillness of the house, her swallow was eerily audible. "It’s been happening a lot more recently."

"Is that…" the face was so attentive, so tender in its searching, "good or bad?"

"Mostly good, I think. A sort of waking up, kind of."

Christen nodded, gaze shifting to where she now held Tobin’s open hand. It sat cradled in her left, the right starting to trace at the lines on the brunette’s palm. She marked the deepest ones with a slow drag. "There’s this quote I like. I forget who said it. But it goes, ' _The cure for anything is saltwater; sweat, tears, or the sea._ '"

Tobin watched the finger as it explored. Enjoyed the way it pushed at the dullness of her body right now — that it sparked little fizzes and shivers in every nerve ending it met. "Well, we’re two for three tonight. Not so bad."

It journeyed a few more times, tracking lines from side to side. Then a long and slow slide down the length of Tobin’s pointer finger, curling at the end to drag the lightest touch of her nail over the final pad.

Then Christen looked up.

Then she shifted a few inches back on the bench.

Then she grasped at Tobin’s left knee — eyes locked in strange solemnity — and lifted it into a measured glide up and over the bench until Tobin was straddling it too, facing the watching woman.

And finally, taking stock of her dress and limbs for a moment, Christen put her hands on the last few inches of bench behind her and slid forward, legs lofting until they could settle over and on top of Tobin’s own.

"Can I kiss you?"

Tobin felt her chin bob, even as her throat did.

But Christen’s approach was slow; indirect. The lips moved first to her cheekbone, drifting light as dandelion fluff. Then fluttered down, that same wing-light drag back and forth across her cheek, only the very surface of her lips, and her breath warm between. Next was the bend of her jaw, all the way from ear to chin and Tobin’s eyes couldn’t help but shut.

If she wasn’t a professional athlete, she thought her heart might truly beat itself into oblivion.

Christen’s mouth started skimming the other side now; sneaking in little nudges of the lips, barely enough to be called a kiss, but present all the same. Tobin’s tongue was doing that thing where it lights up, almost ticklish without a single touch. The strange spell of that. She felt her mouth drop open, searching for a full breath of air, or maybe just Christen’s perfume.

Tobin felt like burning bush. She felt like holy ground.

The lips were at her eyelashes now — so slow that she could feel as they met the tip of each individual curve, then the heat of her breath, strawberry sweet.

Finally, _finally_ , they journeyed till they could hover just off of Tobin’s lips.

But they didn’t meet.

Instead, she held there, Tobin statued underneath as whatever was coming next built into action.

It was her hands at the end, searching blindly for Tobin’s own, then guiding them till they rounded the sides of her torso leaving Christen shivering as they palmed the full circuit and linked behind her back.

Hers returned to rest on Tobin’s shoulders, lips still that precarious half inch from meeting the other pair.

But they weren’t finished yet. A whisper tripped out in the same pianissimo Tobin had melted the room into before.

" _Take me to bed?_ "

Lifting her was both automatic and easy but for the bench between her legs. Still, with a little maneuvering, Tobin had Christen secure around her waist with calves crossed over her back pockets and arms looped over her shoulders as she began to mouth over the midfielder’s jawline. " _Please. Please_."

Tobin carried her to that strangely open room, panties wet against her abdomen as the long silk dress dragged on the floor, pushed aside for the widening of Christen’s legs. Tobin tried not to let it catch in her feet.

The window on this side was just as wide and uncovered as the living room and fully black, only a glint of moonlight highlighting the still-steady pulse of waves reaching shore. At the foot of the bed, hands strong on her thighs, Tobin sat Christen down into a stand.Let her hands smooth up and long against the back of those strong legs before letting the silk fall back into place.

Then they were all lips.

I mean, there were hands, and grasping, and maybe hair-pulling but barely intentional because _lips, lips, lips._

It was a mix of all the flavors of the night but the lasting note was still strawberries and chocolate and Tobin sucked at the exploring tongue, marveling at how sweet could linger.

Teeth grasped around her bottom lip, dragging without biting. "Tobin," she was panting. " _Tobin_."

She didn’t even seem to be asking for anything. Just saying it. Tasting it.

Tobin sucked again, then traveled her tongue against the smooth of teeth — next, the edges of them. Christen mewled, forehead butting momentarily against Tobin’s cheekbone, chin drawn, open-mouth magnetic towards those searching lips but helpless till she caught her breath.

Tan hands clutched at the silk around her waist, seeking the heat of her body.

Tan hands wanted that silk gone.

"Christen…" her hands pawed at the cloth, inept and she whined. "I can tell you need more. Let me touch you. Please? Anything you want. We could do it like last night." A nudge of her nose against Christen’s before her lips brushed hotly over the ear. "Or do you want my mouth this time?"

Christen had heard the joking comments of not being able to walk after good sex. But no one ever told her it could feel like that _before_ you started.

_Fuck yes I want your mouth._

_But that can wait._

"Toby," she gasped at the mouth now working at her earlobe, then the lower teeth dragging up and down at the skin there just below. "This has been such a good birthday. And you made me feel so good last night. So safe. I haven’t… you know that was" she couldn’t help the high-pitched moan as hands began to work at the top of her ass, massaging at the swell there, "something for me that was —" another clench of Tobin’s hand and Christen’s hips knocked into the ones just in front of her. "—It was the first in a long time. And I want to thank you." She let her own hands wrap around Tobin’s handsome waist, the white of her shirt so stark against the sun-kissed skin of her forearms, the freckling expanse of her chest. "I want to give you something back."

"Don’t thank me. You deserved to feel good." _Tongue. Tongue on my neck._ "You deserved to have someone touch you and still know it’s ok. Know _you’re_ ok."

Like a child raised with hands on learning, Tobin squeezed at the curves of her rear, gathering the silk in her hands before smoothing it out again. Then she slipped one hand through the slit to tease fingers at the crease where ass met thigh.

Christen hadn’t known that would feel so good.

"You don’t owe me anything. It’s your birthday. Let me." 

Tobin’s other hand slipped around Christen’s side, squeezing at the thin frame with her fingertips. Then she gave her one long and filthy kiss before pulling away just enough to speak — lips glancing against Christen’s own as she did, setting off a low electric hum in the nerve endings. 

"Chris. I’ve been dreaming of tasting you again."

For someone so recently comfortable with her sexuality, Tobin had certainly acclimated quickly. Was it possible to make panties unsalvageable? Was that a thing?

 _Don’t get distracted._

Christen held her away at the shoulders. Needed enough room to look in her eyes because the closed-eyed swoon she’d been in was getting her nowhere but — ok, she couldn’t think of a place that would make that sentence say what she was trying to right now, but the point was, she could come later. Tobin should come first.

No, wait — that wasn’t meant to sound so — but it certainly fit the —

Christen pulled herself together. "I _want_ to, Tobin. This isn’t just about me. We’re an _us_."

She released the button holding together the modest V of Tobin’s shirt — then the next one and —

"You’ve been so patient. You’ve put what I’ve wanted first. But I want to make you feel good too." That tan neck was so smooth under her tongue, fluttering warm and alive with every heartbeat. It made the hair on the back of Christen’s own neck rise and spark. "It’d be the best present, baby." Her tongue dipped, finding the hint of salt at the little hollow in the front. "Making you moan for me."

Tobin shivered, helpless to leaning forward against that searching tongue.

This whole night had been leading to this — Tobin had been _wanting_ this — and Christen had worked so hard to make it perfect. It _was._ It _had been._

But now, in this moment, her stomach quivered.

It would be perfect but for Rêverie still humming down her spine.

It would be perfect but for Mallory’s scarred hips.

It would be perfect but for all the rumination on home and family and mothering and responsibility and consent and— Tobin could feel that dark swell within her. Could sense that familiar panic she’d tried to lay to rest months ago but that had been creeping back in like rain water through a basement door.

Vertigo spilled into the edges of her vision.

"I… I don’t know, Chris. What if we do what we did before?"

Tobin’s hand was in Chris’s hair, scratching just-this-side-of-pain lines and it was almost enough to make the forward miss it. Make her miss the palpable tension in the other woman’s shoulders.

But not quite. 

Christen unlatched her sucking lips as the brunette continued.

"Both touching ourselves, right? That could be good. We could do that."

 _Ok, there is definitely something going on_.

Christen pulled away; hands abandoning their trace of underwire and moving to sit clumsy on Tobin’s shoulders instead. This was… this was tricky. Sensitive.

"Tobin…"

Could she touch her hair? The back of her neck? Everything had been so sure and now it just… wasn’t.

"…You’ve got to know that I’ve noticed." She held her voice steady; unaccusing. "You haven’t let me touch you the entire time we’ve been here. The outdoor shower you used my knee, but anytime I’ve tried to—"

Tobin sunk down to sit on the edge of the bed before the sentence even finished and Christen’s hands fell limp to her sides, the visual compatriot of her now echoing chest, heart clattering somewhere around her navel.

 _Wow, that… that doesn’t bode well_.

Christen tried not to show her panic — the anxiety aching to express itself in the wringing of hands. The half-moon press of nails into her palms. She flexed them loose instead.

"Have I… I don’t know." She scrambled to think of what she could have possibly said that had created this situation. Or was it the sex itself? Had it been bad? But she was pretty sure Tobin would have been ok working through that. It _must_ have been something worse. "But if I’ve done something wrong? Or if you’re not…" _oh god, have I_ _really_ _missed something?_ "not actually interested in me like that…?"

The hand suddenly clutched in the sheath of her dress made Christen minutely more relaxed. But still, "I — I don’t know Tobin. I just… I want you to feel taken care of too. Want you to feel loved. And I feel like you’re not letting me."

She wanted to see the honey-brown. To read it. But Tobin’s gaze was fixed somewhere safe like the wall. She couldn’t tell except to know that it wasn’t on her.

"…Like you don’t _want_ me to."

"That’s not it. I swear that’s not it. The doing something or the," the hands gripping her dress twisted in the pause, pulling Christen a half inch closer, "the not interested."

"That’s… that’s good to hear." Even now she kept her hands down, too scared to see what Tobin would do if she _did_ reach out. Didn’t know if she could handle the disquieting premonitions flashing like caution signs in her gut. "But it doesn’t tell me why."

The heavy sigh may have shattered her if it hadn’t been accompanied with a forehead bowing to meet Christen’s abdomen; then the little kiss landing right on that sensitive line she knew marked where the hair began underneath. But she didn’t think Tobin meant it that way. It felt more like a creature comfort. Just the small boost inherent in physical touch. Like Morena crawling into her lap every time thunder filled the sky.

The forehead stayed pressed, the quiet alto drifting upward like fog off the sea. "I’ve been having some… trouble recently."

"I’m starting to pick up on that." She itched to place her fingers in that hair — one hand even lofted before stalling, inches from its goal.

"You haven’t done anything wrong. Or," there was a confused huff that Christen knew would be accompanied by a twist in her brow, "well —"

Her still-flopping heart seized, arrhythmic even as Tobin laid another tiny kiss. 

_She HAD done something, then. She needed to know — needed to FIX this._

"What is it?" The panic she’d tried so hard to hide bled into her voice, and she ached. "Please, tell me Tobin. Let me make it right. If I’ve—"

The interruption was definitive. "You’ve been _great_. It’s not…"

Another sigh, this time with the release of hands that till now had still been clutched in the red flowers, stark across the royal blue of the silk. The only contact now was her head — perhaps the only thing keeping Christen from backing away as well. From curling into herself somewhere in a dark corner.

"It’s from before."

"Before…?"

The slightest nudge of her nose — almost apologetic, somehow. "Rio. It’s about Rio, I think."

_Shit._

_This was…_

She should have known this was coming. She’d —

Well, she’d been the cruelest she’d ever been. She hadn’t meant it to be that. Or that wasn’t the intention.But it had been her means to an end.

_Dammit._

Things had been so _good_ recently.

But you couldn’t just put energy like that into the world and expect only goodness back.

You couldn’t just put energy like that into a _person_ and expect only goodness back.

With a sinking realization and the proximity of her greatest fear, something inside of Christen broke.

She had ruined them before they’d even started.

Hands were back on her hips again, head prodding against Christen’s abs. "I don’t know. I just — I don’t know. I want it but I — I’m scared, Christen. I’m legitimately scared."

_Well, that wasn’t quite a break-up. But it wasn’t good._

_"…_ Scared?" The swallow was a jawbreaker in her throat. "Scared of what? Of—" _please no, please please no. "_ Of me?"

“I have so many bad memories, Chris." The conversation with Mal lingered heavy in the back of her shoulders. The past she had shoved only hours ago back to the monster under the bed came tumbling right back out. "Things that make me wish I could just edit them out of my brain. Delete them."

Christen couldn’t help it. Her finger tips wound like ivy, trailing until they could grip onto the divots of Tobin’s cranium. Could hold her secure against her.

This may be the last time she ever got to do that.

"But that night… Chris, that was the moment I learned that good memories hurt the worst.”

Finally, that statued frame lifted — tipped back till their eyes could meet.

"I’m not … I’m not trying to make you feel bad…"

Christen would give anything to look away. To be able to break from the stripped-raw truth there. But she owed Tobin this. She owed it to her to hear this no matter what.

"… But you gave me maybe the best memory of my life." Christen wanted to release that lip from the catching teeth — save it from the torn surface soon to follow."And then you made it ground zero."

Her hands were still entrenched in Tobin’s hair. She fought to contain the tremble.

"And when we first got together, I was just so happy. So ready to make new memories together. And we’re doing that. We _are._ But now, every time I feel close to you … when I feel ready to —" her eyebrows furrowed.

It took a moment for Christen to read the confusion. It looked like her friend Alma in high school. She’d emigrated from El Salvador and every time she tried to express an instinctual idiom into something the lunch table would understand she’d scrunch up just the same. Caught in translation.

She’d just needed time.

It took four breaths.

"—to open myself to you again — to how much I felt like I _fit_ in that moment — fit _me_ and _my_ skin for the first time. Fit into the shape of what abandon was meant to look like for me… well."

Christen picked up the thread like she was picking up the very object of her destruction. "…Then you remember how much it hurt after."

The still-slightly-confused eyes looked up again, having wandered in the last few sentences. "You _hurt_ me, Christen."

It was almost childlike in its simplicity. Even more in the true lack of comprehension — like Christen was the first person to teach her of betrayal in the world. Of selfishness.

"Tobin…"

What does one even say to that? Especially when it’s true?

"Tobin, I am _so_ sorry. I am _so_." Every word was a gavel-strike, sentencing her own heart. " _very._ _sorry_."

"And I know now why you did it. You told me, and we talked about it, and I prayed about it, and I _do_ forgive you, Christen." That same confusion. "But it’s like my body didn’t get the message? Like it’s still… flinching."

The tears pricked like irons at the corners of her eyes. Burgeoning. But that wasn’t fair. She didn’t get to do that right now. "Do you want to go back? We can just go back to the house and… and I can give you some space. Or," _don’t cry,_ "we can get you a ticket back. I understand now. I’m so sorry if I’ve pushed you and… and I want you to do what you need."

She’d lost eye contact herself at some point. She realized it because her eyes were on the woodgrain below her feet when the hands at her hips flexed softly. When thumbs started rubbing in the hollow above her hip bones.

"Chris." Another swirl of her thumbs. "Chris—"

She would do anything Tobin asked. Even the unspoken asks.

Christen looked up.

"Chris, if I wanted to be somewhere else, I would be. I’m an adult."

 _Don’t. CRY._ "But we’ve had sex multiple times! And I kept asking for more. I kept _asking_ and I should have realized you weren’t into it."

This time when Tobin leaned forward to kiss her, right there in that same risky place, her gaze was highly connected and her placement was nothing if not deliberate.

"Christen. I was _very_ into it."

The smirk threw her off balance; not sure what emotion to land on here — what Tobin wanted. This was too much. She just … she just needed to know what Tobin _wanted._

"I don’t know what you _want_ , Tobin."

Apparently her brain wasn’t operating with filters today. Vaguely, some part of her that wasn’t under the tyranny of the moment murmured that maybe this was a good thing for them.

"That’s the thing. I _want_ you, Christen. And I want us to be together. There are so many more reasons than sex working well or not that make me want to be with you. And I _want_ sex. Even right now. But I just…" a head shake so minuscule, Christen wasn’t sure she would have noticed it if her fingers weren’t still witnessing to the silk-soft of Tobin’s hair. "I need to be honest that I’m not sure I can handle that in this moment. I think even if it felt good, it would hurt me. Make me _more_ anxious. There’s been a lot going on in my head that isn’t your fault, I swear, but my body just… it remembers before and…"

Christen swallowed another stone, trying to read anything hiding behind the closed-caption of her eyes.

"It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I deserve to enjoy it."

"You do." Both the words and the hands on Tobin’s cheeks were instant and involuntary, but Christen didn’t regret it. Not when it was true. And especially not when Tobin beamed with that nascent smile.

"Right. But also," the hands, now on the back of her thighs, squeezed. "Chris, you deserve to _have_ me enjoy it. Because you" — another highly-aware-of-what-she-was-doing kiss right at that scandalous line — "are a woman" — slightly lower and it had Christen squirming — "who should know" — the fingers gripped at her legs — "the _powerful" —_ Tobin’s hot breath was seeping through the thin dyed fabric — "affect she has."

The final kiss was right over the heat of her, far more cooled since this conversation started, but pulsing sporadically still in aftershocks of earlier hopes.

Well, that last kiss made 'earlier' a little less accurate a term.

But it was a hope that could be tabled. That _should_ be tabled.

Tobin had offered her another hope far more valuable.

"I wish I could take the pain away. I wish I could take it back." That white unbuttoned shirt was off-kilter and Christen’s fingers itched to right it. To right this whole thing.

"But you can’t." The unyielding simplicity of it hurt and soothed at the same time somehow.

Christen shook her head in admittance.

"So, replace it. We have so much time, Christen. We cover it up with good until it really is just a memory. Until we have new best memories that _don’t_ hurt. And there will be days where doing this with you is easy. There will also probably still be days where it’s not and I have to tell you that. And you’ll need to respect that." 

Christen’s head was nodding instantly but Tobin just smiled, continuing. 

"But if you _really_ want to take the pain away, then … stay with me. Don’t be offended or scared or impatient. Just… give me — give _us_ — time to heal," the face eased into a gentle smile, "and stay."

This woman was such a wonder.

"So…" Christen finally let herself risk a little more — believe that maybe this wasn’t the end, "what is tonight’s memory going to be?"Tobin’s cheek was so soft, and it opened slightly when she passed over that spot right in the middle.

A hand left her thigh to catch the skating fingers — pressed her lips to Christen’s captured palm. "Staying in this beautiful house, eating that incredible meal, smelling the ocean, and holding each other until the sun comes up because you wanted the first night of 28 to be spent in my arms."

One listening brow quirked.

"Ok, fine. You know me too well." Tobin amended with a grin. "Holding each other until _at least_ an hour after the sun comes up."

It felt good to share smiles for a time.

The standing woman’s thumb slipped across that prominent cheekbone; the shadowed hollow above her chapped upper lip.

Breathed.

The ocean crashed low and rhythmic through the outside dark, flooding through the windows and filling the sudden silence.

It was a prelude.

It was portentous.

It was a shift in something.

Christen’s face went slack.

… Tobin was so soft-hearted. So willing to forgive.

Too willing.

"What are you thinking?" those pink lips whispered, Christen’s thumb stalled under the brunette’s bottom lip — the slight hill of her skin there.

She wished the ocean would burst from its borders. She wished it would drown out the murkier deluge rising inside her like that photo she’d seen of Katrina’s devastation of the Pontchartrain. The brown flotsam-filled destruction creeping steadily over everything ordered and once-called safe until the thriving streets of New Orleans lay ruined and rotting.

"Something terrible," she whispered back.

The word philtrum came from the Greek. How what once meant 'love potion' was now assigned to the divot between nose and mouth Christen wasn’t sure unless Tobin had been there at its genesis. She could drink it down in this moment by thumb, lip, or tongue. Could lose herself in that small carnal act until her mind abandoned every thought to the ether, snared by the elixir of Tobin’s face.

But it would just be diversion. Flight from the horrifying consciousness she’d just entered.

Tobin’s whisper was even shallower now, barely discernible above the surf. "…What?"

She should buy her a ticket.

She should send her away for her own good.

She should do it and then lock herself away for what she’d done.

"Tobin… what you were describing… it’s _trauma_ , Tobin." The room was too beautiful for this moment. Her dress too bold. Everything around her was too good for what she was about to admit to herself. "I’m Carson. I became your Carson."

The brunette was standing in an instant, hands hard around her head, thumbs pressing in front of her ears as she tipped Christen’s head up.

"Stop it. Right now."

"You have trauma and I caused it. I’m your Carson."

"—Christen—"

"And for the rest of your life, it’ll always be there"

"—stop—"

"in the back of your head. That I’m the one who broke you."

"— _STOP—"_

"Staying is the _worst_ thing I could do for you."

The hands around her skull gripped and shook, bringing the world back into focus.

" _Christen_. Listen to me. Right now. Are you listening?"

She had to nod her head — ensnared in the demanding presence of fierce eyes and unfaltering voice.

"Good, because I am about to monologue."

The woman took a deep breath.

"Christen, let’s be clear about something. Carson is a rapist. He _raped_ you." Those still-present hands cushioned the violence of her flinch. "Not just that, he did it after marrying you with a promise to love and protect. And still, the moment things went wrong, he used you to satisfy his own desires leaving you _literally_ bruised and bleeding on the floor."

The hands tipped her chin back again from where she’d tried to escape, overwhelmed by the brutal efficiency of Tobin’s words.

"You hurt me, Christen. It was even traumatizing, yes. But you were not using me. You had just experienced a huge emotional blow and not even 24 hours after having sex for the first time after _years_ of associating it with the worst night and worst betrayal of your life. You were struggling and you pushed me away because you were scared and overwhelmed and you didn’t know how to fix it. Did you do something terrible in response? Yes."

She tugged against the shamed duck of Christen’s head; centered her.

"But you did not rape me. You did not use me for something as short-lived as physical pleasure. You did not betray a longterm relationship where we had communicated and committed to each other’s boundaries. We all hurt people, Christen, but you are not the villain in my story. You are a beautifully complicated and real woman who opened me up to vulnerability and relationship in a way I’d hidden from for years. You were my friend first. And even if we had never fixed things—" Tobin’s eyes widened like some of these words were the first time she’d even said them to herself. " _Even_ if you had never apologized, that friendship and the closeness and the build-up of all these little intimacies that led to that night would still have been worth the pain. Do you know why?"

Christen shook her head within the velvet vice of Tobin’s strong hands.

"Because you walked me down the road to believing that what I wanted was _good_ and I could ask for it _._ That I _deserved_ the love I was looking for. Not just physically, but emotionally."

The hands around her face finally dropped, and Christen blinked at the sudden loss of it. Then at their reappearance, one perched against Tobin’s hip and the other wild in her hair.

"I had some _very_ dark days after the things you said, it’s true. But even before we fixed things, I came out the other side confident in who I was made to be. And that was a gift." She sighed, long and resolved, fingers fisting in her scalp. "Christen, you are not him. Not even close." 

And then they were touching again, tan hands pulling at the cinched rusch of her dress till they were only inches apart like the prelude of this painful conversation.

"So don’t you dare think I’m better off without you. There will be days I don’t want sex, and days I do. But that will _never_ mean I don’t want you. Ok? That you aren’t one of the most joyous parts of my life."

The voice softened till it was indistinguishable from any lover’s whisper.

"Tonight has been _amazing_. And just because it doesn’t end in an orgasm doesn’t mean you have created something any less beautiful or intimate than what you intended. Ok?"

The woman’s face was obscured and Christen had to blink away the wet in her eyes. When it cleared, she realized Tobin was smiling. It only took a moment of confusion before she realized, it was a response — _she_ was the one smiling. Watery and wavering, but there all the same.

Tobin’s laugh was as untroubled as a church bell.

"Ok, then. Now let’s go brush our teeth and get changed because this bed looks _incredible_ and I want to fall asleep in it with my best friend and wake up with her in it too."

_Tobin is — She —_

Christen threw herself into Tobin’s arms, lingering for one exuberant and joyful kiss that tasted like promise.

When she pulled away, it was only far enough to create words from their shared breaths.

"I love you, Tobin. You’re my best friend too."

Perhaps that simple truth was the best birthday gift of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily: YES! Ok, I win so I get to choose. Twilight it is, brotatoes!  
> Ali: *sighs*  
> Julie: *rolls eyes*  
> Crystal: *tries not to reveal actual excitement*  
> Kelley: Emily, that movie sucks more than vampires do. No one wants to watch that.  
> Alyssa: … I relate to vampires because I too must be clearly and specifically invited in before I have the audacity to try to participate in anything.  
> Crickets:  
> Becky: Oh, sweetie. 
> 
> If you're feeling charitable, maybe affirm if you liked something in this chapter. I could use the love from my anonymous hype team!


	15. Taping the Edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christen could get little more than a "she has something she needs to talk to you about" from the other woman. ...Which wasn’t that worrisome in itself, but Tobin’s face as she repeated it over and over was what gave her pause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ali: Hey, Ash baby, can you help me with this zipper?  
> Ashlyn: Of course.  
> Ali:  
> Ashlyn:  
> Ali: Up, Ashlyn.  
> Ashlyn: Right. Sorry. 
> 
> You know how when people are talking about being at a club and they make the sound of the bass like "ntz, ntz, ntz, ntz"?
> 
> Does anyone ever do that in their head when they read the word angst, and it’s sounding off like "angst, angst, angst, angst" but it makes you giggle because you’re pretending to dance to the pain like one of those sorta morbid jokes you’d make to a counselor in a meme? 
> 
> Anyway, WELCOME BACK TO A LONG OVERDUE CHAPTER THAT IS ONCE AGAIN NO LONGER THE FINAL ONE AND FEATURES MY GOOD FRIEND, you know him, you love him! AAAAAAAAANGST!

**12/30/16  
Palos Verdes, California**

It had been such an emotionally draining night that she had probably taken considerably longer to awake than it had seemed. The moment itself felt a strangely muddled pull to sudden alertness, like salvaging a strawberry out of a bowl of syrup. But in the end, however long they had actually been going, it was the whimpers that caused it.

The night was pitch but as it shook its viscous coat, her vision settled into grayscale suggestions of curve and motion.

The sound was Tobin.

In the initial slow-boot of awareness Christen found herself panicking, looking for a reason for the nearby stutter of breaths and whine; any looming figure! padded step! masculine breath!

…But there was only Tobin.

Feeling her own breathing slow again, Christen tried to focus.

"Tobin, what’s wrong?"

It continued. Whatever existed on that shadow world beyond sleep, Tobin was still there. Christen tried a hand at her shoulder; the woman was laid out flat on her stomach, one hand twitching near Christen’s ribcage.

"Tobin."

Nothing.

She soothed across her back, palm slow and dragging in an attempt against startling. "Honey. Wake up. You’re dreaming."

Just another twitch and an odd roll of the muscles down her spine.

Christen couldn’t tell you why she knew it was a nightmare except for the fact that she could read it as easily as she could read Tobin’s frame on a field; knew whether it was an attack, or a distraction, or a sign of a long-cross. She could just tell.

"Tobin!"

Wild eyes flew open with a gasp and Christen snatched back her hand — that same instinct telling her that contact wouldn’t be wise in this moment. 

She went with vocals instead.

" _Shhhhh_ , baby, you’re ok. _Shhhh_."

Tobin was still frozen on her stomach but now it looked more like a quarry’s play at camouflage than a body in sleep. Too much tension to be anything other than terror.

"It’s just me, Tobs. Just Christen. We’re at the beach house. You’re fine."

The shallow pants continued, the brunette’s fingers loosing their claw-like grasp on the sheets centimeter by centimeter.

" _Fuck."_

More air than voice, but Chris felt her own shoulders slacken all the same. Tobin was coming back.

"It’s ok. Just a dream. A bad dream. You’re ok."

Now that the midfielder’s lungs seemed to work again, the gasps got ragged; gulping and relieved as they tried to bring oxygen back to a fritzing brain. Tobin rolled over to her back, hand rising to clutch at her chest; witnessing the reality of safety maybe, or just trying to manifest breath.

"Looked like a bad one. You alright?"

Brown eyes, charcoal in the dim, slipped shut but the gulps had settled into deep and slow claimings now. Her hand loosened to a tired collapse against her breastbone. "Yeah. Just… fuck. That was —" her brow furrowed. "I’m fine. It’s fine."

Christen just hummed, watching, sitting in a twisted lean to gaze down at the woman beside her.When the eyes finally opened, she spoke.

"What was happening?"

"I— I’m not sure. It was —" she ran her hands through her hair. It was almost fully-familiar Tobin again except for the tremble still rumbling in little aftershocks through her frame. "It’s hard to…" but it trailed off into silence and a creased brow, eyes trapped on the ceiling somewhere.

"We don’t have to talk about it. What do you want?"

"It’s not even —" the huff of air was hot and biting. "It doesn’t even make _sense_. It wasn’t a story. It was just… running. Being chased. That thing where you are so much slower for some reason. Like," she shifted uncomfortably, "your legs are weights? And I was running and…"

It felt safer now and Christen let a hand begin to soothe at her hair, tips winding until they could pull lightly from the roots, then pass through like water. Tobin’s eyes slipped shut again, but different now, head leaning into the hand by centimeters. Receiving. "And then right as they were on me there was a cliff and…" The hand pulled through in another waterfall trace. The eyes fluttered open into a strange confusion — "…I fell."

She crooned in sympathy as the troubled head dipped a little closer, turning into Christen’s palm until Tobin’s lips could press open-mouthed at the meat of the thumb. Just… breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

"Those are never fun."

A snort: all air and confirmation. "No. They’re not."

"Do you get them often?"

Tobin was still pressed into her palm so Christen kept it lofted. It was an interesting thing, the comfort Tobin seemed to take from a postage stamp of space. Like distance and presence at the same time.

"No. Just sometimes. There’ve been other nightmares in different seasons. But this is one that always seems to come back. Not frequent. But never gone, I guess."

Christen’s thumb kept stroking; just soft and glance against the sleep-warm cheekbone, tentative near the corner of her eye where the lashes were fluttering.

Tobin arced into it. "Do you have one of those?"

"I had some night terrors as a kid. But then mostly it was just soccer and losing games. The slow leg thing, like you said. Hate that."

"And now?"

That nose against her palm, now nudging, sliding almost in gentle drags. It was like the sway of a lighthouse beacon over the dark water suddenly pitching in her stomach.

"…Chris?"

"Kelley not coming."

The head tipped up. "Shit, Chris, I didn’t mean t—" She swallowed, eyes a penitent ember in the shadow room. "I should’ve —"

"It’s alright."

"But of course it’d be that. I didn’t thi—"

"Shh, honey. It’s fine. I’m fine." Christen let her thumb slide once over Tobin’s lips, the apology on them, then slid it down to the sheet to wind into the clenching hand. "How can I help _you_? When you dream — like, can I make you some tea? Or read to you? Hold you?"

"I … I don’t know. I’m normally alone."

_Tell me how to help you, Tobin. What do you need?_

"What would your mom do?" Christen caught herself — an abdomen flinch the only sign of her internal curse. Redirected. "Perry. What would Perry do when you were a kid?"

"Nothing specific. I don’t know. I don’t think either of us ever learned."

Chris could tell Tobin was getting uncomfortable. Was embarrassed somehow about something that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the shortcomings of someone else — two someone elses, really — who could have made such a difference.

Two parents who chose not to.

And now, like nightmare creeping into reality, Tobin’s breathing was picking up again, devolving back into gasp and catch. "I’m sorry. I don’t - I don’t know. I’m sorry!"

_Catch her, Chris._

"Shh, that’s ok. It’s ok, Tobin." She tucked the falling hair back behind an ear; lifted it off of the humidity of panting lips. "Breathe." Set her hand on a hot cheek. "Breathe, honey."

But it wasn’t working. It wasn’t working and Tobin was still dream-addled and now memory-addled and starting to panic and —

The next half second was a scramble:

_God, this was… what was she supposed to do? Words weren’t working and Tobin hadn’t given her anything to work off of. Her mind raced, looking for anything. Something! She only knew what Tobin had done for h—_

_Ok. Ok, wait, that was something. For weeks Tobin had dealt with her panicking, crying in a bed at night. And she’d figured out what to do. How many times had Tobin touched her, just to feel good? How many times had Tobin led Christen into a place that felt manageable, just by holding her? By a hand smoothing her hair? Pulling her attention to something else. Something present and warm._

Christen pulled herself closer. Sat so her hip was against Tobin’s.

"Baby, it’s _ok_. I’m here and it’s safe." Swallowed. "I’m just going to — to touch you if that’s ok." 

Tobin still looked on the edge of panic, hand clenching lightly at the hem of Christen’s sleep shirt.

"Tobin. Baby, look at me. Did you ever play that game as a kid? Where you write or draw something on someone’s back and they try to guess?"

"No, I" — she swallowed, hand flexing against the fabric, eyes flickering across the ceiling — "we weren’t allowed sleepovers as kids. And when I was older and — started having…" the hand clenched. Unclenched. "feelings I was too scared to touch anyone. So I didn’t."

_The loneliness of that. It wasn’t about sex. It was just connection. Just touch._

"Will you turn over?"

Tobin’s eyes snapped to hers, mouth still open in a slight and rattled pant. Searching. But then she nodded. Rolled over —

— but she looked confused — arched up, not sure what to —

"You just lay down, honey. Just — just relax." Christen allowed herself a long but warm stroke up and down her back, slightly pushing the spine to settle until Tobin’s head had sunk into the fold of her own arms, head facing the far wall. 

She kept her voice soft and tame. _"_ It’s simple. I’ll write something — big letters. One by one. And when I stop, that means the end of the word. Yeah?"

Tobin breathed long, Christen’s hand rising and falling with the inhalation on her warm back. She nodded.

"Ok." Christen took a breath in. "Ok, then."She smoothed her hand across the expanse of Tobin’s back again. The soft of it, even through thin cotton, but with such strength underneath. She waved it in long strokes, like she was clearing a window of condensation. Clearing a canvas.

"Just relax and… focus here. Just on this."

A moment to think.

And then it began.

Christen laid a finger right between Tobin’s scapula. Then swooped it in two opposing convex arcs. Then one large moon. A sideways cup. Again. 4 lines in sharp succession. Then a down-up-half-loop-slice.

Paused.

"Did you get that one?"

"Soccer."

The woman was breathing a little easier now. Her back rose and fell in a settling rhythm.

"Yeah. Good job. See, it’s easy. You just have to concentrate. Wanna go again?"

A breath. Then a nod.

Christen cleared the imaginary expanse again. Breathed as she thought. Put pen to paper.

Down-up-half-loop. A full circle. Across down. Across down. 4 lines. The first one with an added stroke.

"Got it?"

"Um… no, I didn’t — I couldn’t —"

"That’s okay, baby. Let me do it again."

Her finger retraced the paths.

A giggle. "Potter? As in Harry?"

"Right!"

Silence, but Chris thinks she can hear a grin. Then…

"Another."

_Good. Ok, good._

"Ok."

She dragged her finger in the next series. She could feel Tobin’s head resettling. Nestling deeper in her elbows.

"Did you get that one?"

It was slower this time. Wondering. Aware. "…Sorry."

"Yeah, that’s right." Her throat caught on that swallow and she needed to double-gulp to get the stone down. "One more?"

Silence. Then a nod.

"Ok, this one is a bit longer. So pay attention."

She took it slow. Making sure every line was distinct. Every curve exaggerated. Unmistakable. She ended with the final down-up-half-loop-slice.

Then she swung a leg over Tobin’s hips to shift over top of her body, not touching but covering — shielding almost — as she leaned down to press her lips to that knot of spine right at the base of her neck. Then the covered vertebrae right below.

Whispered against it.

"Did you get that one, Tobin?"

A tremble, just discernible in the muscles of her neck. Christen put her weight on her knees, hovering both hands over the supine woman’s shoulders until — as Tobin exhaled, Christen let her weight press into the muscles there. Massaged the heels of her hands into the subcutaneous tension until a quiet moan released from the body. Until there was a slackening.

"Tobin?"

A trembling inhale. "…Forever."

"That’s right." Christen folded over onto her back. Nuzzled against the soft and curling hairs against her neck. "That’s how long I am going to spend loving you." She let herself enjoy a long moment, just breathing Tobin’s sleep scent in as her body nestled warm and safe over the midfielder’s torso. Like a roof on a cottage, tight against the rain.

Then, without a word, she rolled over to the side, wrestled with the blanket for a moment as she resubmerged, and guided Tobin’s far shoulder to pull back until she was laying sideways — until Christen could tuck right up against her, breasts soft and pressed against the smooth of the brunette’s back. Until Christen could wrap one arm firm around her middle.

Tobin softened just enough to truly sink flush into the body against her. To let the warmth of their touching bodies build under the blanket into a velvet liminal space of dream and wake.

"Just sleep now, Tobin. I’m here."

She let one hand sit low on Tobin’s abdomen just below the raised hem of her shirt, tips of her fingers stroking lightly, observing the soft.

"I love you and I’m here."

* * *

Christen woke this time to the smell of coffee and the shk-shk-shk of what was probably a whisk going at it somewhere in the kitchen.

She scrunched her eyes shut, scapula pawing at the sheets as she arched her back, arms thrusting up at the headboard in a long stretch that endured through several pops and a moan.

She slumped back to the sheets.

…

"TOBS?"

The whisk paused in the kitchen.

Then the pad of footsteps and a head popping around the dividing wall.

"Hey, Chris."

Christen stretched her legs this time, toes straining in a full ballerina’s _en pointe_ as her hands grasped under the frame above her to counterbalance.

"Just wanted to make sure it was you. I mean — I guess it could only be you but —"

But Tobin was already smiling and coming to sit on the bed.

"Hey, it’s ok. And yeah, just me."

Christen reached up a hand, grasping the end of a lock of that honey brown hair, tugging lightly.

"I woke up without you again. Almost like old times." She tried not to let the vulnerability slip in. The question.

But last night had been difficult for everyone.

"Just bright. And the ocean was calling."

"You took a swim already?"

Tobin nodded, head tipping a bit to press a kiss to the still-toying fingers.

Now that she mentioned it, the locks were a bit damp. But still…

She ducked her eyes, hand dropping to mess with the elastic of the woman’s boxers. "Not any other reason?"

Tobin sighed but scooted closer, a hand slipping into the no-longer-birthday girl’s hair now, scratching gently at the roots by the neck.

"A little embarrassed about last night honestly. Needed to get out some energy."

_Ah._

"You shouldn’t be."

"I know."

It was a lazy stillness, humming with a bit of mutual uncertainty, but appreciation all the same. And the sun-happy light made it easier to believe in an easy understanding.

"What are you embarrassed about?"

Tobin sighed again, this time withdrawing her hand to motion Christen into a backward-scooch; then laying down next to her, nose nudging into a still-sleep-lined cheek.

"Not about anything I said really. I’m glad we talked. For me and you."

"…Then?"

"More just general vulnerability, I guess. We really were having a great night. I didn’t want to spoil it."

Christen slid a hand to the woman’s stomach; pressed it there. "You didn’t!"

"No. But I did take it in another direction."

Green eyes pulled back a little to look into brown. She pulled a finger down Tobin’s cheek.

"A direction we needed to go in."

Tobin just took the tip of the finger in her mouth and bit lightly. Teasing, but strangely innocent too. Then she released it with a kiss.

"…I’m making breakfast."

"The pancake breakfast or the omelet one? We stocked for both."

"Pancakes."

Pink lips met a lip/chin, still a little too sun-dazzled by the unfiltered light for good aim.

"Good. I was craving that for some reason."

"You can get ready and it’ll be done soon."

15 minutes later found them back at the beautiful table, waves showing off outside.

Christen smirked.

"Bunnies?"

"Hey! Not just bunnies. SMILING bunnies." Tobin tipped her plate in an effort to model the fruit-designed visage on a two-eared pancake, but the slant sent strawberries tumbling which sent Christen tumbling into a fit of giggles.

"I think he’s having a tough morning."

Tobin pouted, picking up the fallen fruit and popping it into her mouth

"See if I give _you_ syrup kisses."

"Don’t worry. I have another partner whose face I am quite eager to devour." She tilted her head at her own still-happy bun. "I think I shall name him… Roberto." She encircled her arms around her plate, head dipping down till just inches remained. "Oh Roberto! How I have waited to taste your lips! Darling!"

And completely forkless, she shoved her face forward and gathered a syruped berry straight into her glistening mouth — eyes squinched closed in exaggerated glee as she rose up with a satisfied and swallowing grin. " _Delicious."_

When she opened to view Tobin’s certainly mock-grump face she —

She jolted because Tobin was standing right there, right next to her chair with dark eyes.

Christen’s breath caught, mouth open slightly as …

Tobin leaned forward and very, v-e-r-y slowly, her soft petal of a mouth closed around just the tip of Christen’s nose. And then, in that sweet dark, a tongue licked up a singular drop of sticky maple.

When Christen’s eyes fluttered into awareness again, she tracked Tobin’s gaze down, down, down to where she then delicately lifted Christen’s fork, twirled it once twixt finger and thumb —

And knocked all of poor Roberto’s face off onto the margins of her plate.

She went back and sat down, legs spreading wide in her chair as she leaned back with a smirk of satisfaction.

"Mine."

Christen was very happy to agree.

* * *

An extended but enjoyable cleanup of breakfast ("You got to try it off me! I want to see what it’s like!"), two rounds of Scrabble in the conversation pit, one wrestling rematch in the spectating surf, and a slightly-stumbled but impressively-recalled piano rendition of Alanis Morissette’s "Ironic" ("what?! You can’t tell me you didn’t love this album") leading to a poorly-pitched but incredibly-enthusiastic sing-a-long by Christen later, they were closing in on 1pm.

Christen wouldn’t have noticed really except that over the last hour or so, Tobin had looked with increasing frequency at her phone. Not texts. Christen could tell. Just flicking the side button till the time popped up, then shutting it down again.

She had just watched her do it for the 8th time in the last 40 minutes when she couldn’t _not_ mention it anymore.

"Are you waiting on a call or something?"

"Hm?"

"Your phone. You keep checking the time."

Tobin flushed, glancing down at her bare feet scrunched in the sand.

"If you want to go back, it’s ok."

"It’s not that. I — I’m having a great time, Chris."

Christen would have felt insecure except for the radiance shining through Tobin’s soft smile — the certainty of it.

"But?"

Tobin bit her lip, heels pushing out to form little dunes.

"I think _you_ need to go back, actually."

_Huh?_

"No, mom and dad knew we would be here. They were prepared for another night honestly."

Tobin’s eyes shadowed.

"It’s … It’s Mal."

* * *

Christen could get little more than a "she has something she needs to talk to you about" from the other woman. Which wasn’t that worrisome in itself, but Tobin’s face as she repeated it over and over was what gave her pause. The shuttered nature of it.

So they drove back.

Honestly, first glances didn’t do much for the urgency that seemed to be in Tobin’s pushing.

The whole scene looked like it belonged in a Seurat painting if you squinted. Cody and Channing were on one side of the net, the man grinning with a lazy flip of his racket, the woman crouched with a ferocity to both her face and the tail end of what sounded like some pretty classic Channing smack talk. On the other side were two Olympians, one tall and blonde and stoic, ready for battle. The other was tiny and doing high knees as she held a birdie and racket to either side, huffing in preparatory breath before angling her body into a taut curve and… SMACKING the shuttlecock in a vicious drive over the net —

And unfortunately wide.

Channing crowed.

"Take that you bad bitches. You may be professional athletes, but in this house, NO ONE DEFEATS A PRESS."

Mal pouted as Lindsey tossed a sympathetic grimace her way, then faced forward with a roll of her eyes. "That’s because you literally only play OTHER PRESSES."

"TELL THAT TO MY 5 POINT LEAD."

Christen walked over to the other side where Stacy sat contentedly in a lounger with a mug of tea in her hands.

"How long has this been going on?"

"This is game three, believe it or not. Thankfully the pairings switch each time or we might have had to put Channing and Mallory in separate rooms for a while."

The latter looked over with a pout. "She’s being mean, Stacy!"

"NO BEING CUTE TO THE JUDGES."

"You’re doing great, baby. Just show her who’s boss."

Cody chuckled from the corner. "Hey Mo. You want to take my spot? I missed a volley and I thought your sister was going to set me on fire with her eyes like that movie with a young Drew Barrymore."

"You know, despite that glowing commendation…" Christen couldn’t help but grin, "I think I’ll pass."

"Water break!"

"YOU DON’T GET WATER BREAKS IN BADMINTON."

But Lindsey had already turned away from the imaginary court and pressed a kiss to Mal’s cheek. "Want a drink?"

The girl lost her pout instantly. "Yeah!"

"Actually, this is good timing." Christen turned to the smaller girl. "I wanted to catch you anyways. You mind if we head in? Talk for a minute?"

Instantly, the easy pointilistic joy dropped into something more like Picasso in the blue period.

_Oh. Tobin was right._

_There was something happening here._

As the forward walked in through the sliding doors and settled on the couch, Mallory slid them shut, offered one last longing glance for the family hangout picking up again outside, and settled on the opposite end.

"Where’s Tobin?"

"She wanted to go to a coffee shop. Get some time with her Bible. Said she’d be back in a bit."

"Oh."

The girl fiddled with her laces, then, realizing where she was, popped her shoes off and set them to the side of the couch, tucking her legs back up underneath her. "Did she —"

At that moment, Lindsey walked in with two glasses of water and an easy grin. "Want one too, Chris? I can grab you something."

"Actually, I was hoping to chat with Mal for a bit. You mind if I steal her?"

A curious tilt of the head, but the blonde was never one to be too bothered. "Oh, sure." She handed off a glass to Mallory who settled it on a coaster on the side table. "I might go do some 1v1 with Chan. I think I can take her."

Mallory lifted a half-hearted grin. "Go get her, champ."

Lindsey’s teeth flashed bright and predatory. "Oh I will." And just like that she was gone.

She was gone and Mal and Christen were left alone.

Christen waited to see if Mallory would speak again but she seemed very interested in the texture of the couch.

"Tobin told me you wanted to talk. Didn’t say why, but encouraged us to find the time."

Mal continued scratching lightly at the fabric near her socked toes.

Christen watched.

"… What did you want to talk about?"

The girl sighed. "It’s not — well…"

She didn’t seem to know where to go. The woman opposite continued to watch. To wait.

"I’ve been anxious about the future. …Upset I guess."

"I know. It’s a big time. Important."

"Right!" The girl swallowed. Scuffed her heels against the cushion. "But not just that. I’ve been —"

Christen waited more.

"I don’t know the word. The emotion. But with you. I — you’re not doing anything wrong! But I’ve been … frustrated maybe? Or hurt? I …"

She trailed off and Christen felt her heart flutter. "I’m sorry if you’ve been hurt, Mal. That’s obviously never been my intention."

"No, I _know._ I —" the huff was all agitation. An inability to express. Christen knew that feeling. "But we keep talking about it and I feel like it’s just circles. Like we keep missing each other. And I’m trying to communicate something but I don’t always know what it is or how and—" she ran a hand through her hair. Shrugged.

_I can’t really tell where this is going…_

_What is she looking for?_

_And why was Tobin so adamant? We’ve been having this conversation for_ months.

"Is it because I think you should go to college? I believe you should be the one to choose but it’s also probably pretty clear that I think that’s the best option right now."

A long moment, and then uncertain eyes lifted up to meet green. "I don’t _want_ to go to college."

That … well that wasn’t what she wanted to hear honestly. But at least Mallory was finally saying something definitive. And that mattered more than Christen’s opinion.

"Ok. I… I hear you. And I shouldn’t have pushed. College isn’t for everyone. And, Lindsey’s right, it also doesn’t have to be now. You could always choose to go back."

"Right."

"So are you saying you want to sign? It can be scary, I know, but you have friends around the country from the team. Sam with the Flash. Morgan in Houston. Linds with the Thorns. You know she’d love that."

"Maybe I don’t WANT to sign with Portland." It was snapped. The girl’s eyes were heating up, like embers under an inciting breath.

_Ok, THAT hit something. What was that?_

She felt like she was walking over those very coals. "...I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to say you needed to."

A cheer echoed in from outside followed by a groan, leading both women to look through the doors for a moment. Christen swung back tentatively.

"I thought you and Linds were doing well though, right? And Tobin’s there and…"

And just as suddenly as it had arrived, the heat was fading into almost a child’s voice. "But what if the Red Stars ask? Then I can stay with _you_."

"Mal…" Christen swallowed. "There is nothing I’d like more in the world. I would love for you to be able to stay with me. Play with me. But you know that’s not how it works. There are allocations, and team dynamics, and play style. There’s no guarantee that they’ll ask. And even if they did, it might not be the best place for you to grow, or to have the chance to shine."

"But they might!"

"Baby," she was careful with it; gentle. "The Red Stars already have me, Alyssa, Julie. Colaprico just got a call-up. They’re saying Sofia Huerta might too. The chances of the club being able to sign another national player… they’re slim, Mal. Honestly, that’s true for Portland too. But there are other teams where you would be the draw card. You’d be the one getting starts from day one. I want you to go where is right for you _."_

 _"_ But what if _you_ are _?_ What if being with you is what’s right?! _"_

And like a lightbulb in a dark room, it hit:

 _THAT was what this was about?_

She’d been so sure that Mal’s struggle choosing was about money and security. Or at the very least about proving herself. _Shit._ She’d slipped into the old mindset, hadn’t she? Sometimes it felt like she’d beat it, only to turn around and realize it was still right there, distorting her field of vision.

But Mallory didn’t see the world that way. And she’d shown her time and time again what lens she wore.

Family.

"Mal. Sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere, ok? Whether you live with me in Chicago or join the league in Australia! You’re not getting rid of me. Do you believe that?"

The girl looked away.

Christen scooted forward, then pulled Mal’s chin back into focus. "Baby. Do you _believe_ that? You are mine, ok? My family. There is nothing — no distance, no team, no circumstance, nothing you could do or say or choose that would make me love you any less. Mallory…"

Brown eyes were shifting — filling. Trying not to meet even as Christen craned to catch them.

"But what if something happens? What if I only have a little time with you? What if something happens and you —" her throat seemed to choke on the last word.

_Oh honey._

"Love. My little love."

The things this girl had been through broke Christen’s heart.

" _Even_ if something happened to me, mom and dad and Channing and Tyler even though you haven’t met yet, and Tobin and Becky and Allie and Alyssa and — you will have _so_ much family, baby. So much love. You are never, _ever_ going to be alone again. I promise you." She put her hands on either side of the now-crying girl’s face. "Baby, I _promise_ you."

"I feel like I—" a shudder and Christen pulled the girl right onto her lap, wrapped her arms tight around her, "like I just f-found you!" Mal’s hands clenched at Christen’s shoulders; eyes big and wet as they searched hers. "I’m not ready to go, Chris."

"Baby." A peck on the head. "Mallory—"

"I don’t _want_ to leave, Chris. _Please_ don’t make me leave." And now the tears coalesced into one shattered sob, erupting from her throat. The girl bent till her face was in her knees, arms over her head like she was preparing for a metaphorical blow. "I don’t want to go!"

Chris pulled the girl even tighter, kiss after kiss laid like blessings on her hair. Her eyes found her mom, brows drawn in the doorway, concern written in every line of her body. The lips were shaping something, soundless, and it took a moment to —

" _Hot chocolate?"_

That was it.

Christen nodded as the woman slipped out.

The sobs were still going, not wilder, but not any less either.

_How did I miss this? This is the sort of cry you slip into as easy as the grooves of a record — an actual track. This must have been playing for weeks._

_Months?_

"I’m not going anywhere, Mal." Christen laid another kiss; tried to get her arms fully around the girl but the form was stiff, forehead still entrenched against her knees, hands grasping at the back of her head. "You will _always_ have a home with me, baby. And I would never make you leave! Why would you think that?"

Muffled, but instant: "You said 4 months! Till the end of the year and New Years is _tomorrow,_ Chris, and—"

"Mal, no. Baby—" she worked to remove those cover-making hands — tried to see her face but Mal was obstinate in her hiding — "baby, no. You were so worried about being a burden. You were so close to saying no. I was just scared. I wanted you safe so I wanted you to feel like it was small. No big deal. I didn’t want you to feel forced. I’m so sorry, Mal. I should have realized what you were feeling. Baby—"

"But you want me to go! I’m 18 and you’ve done so much and I should be _better!_ I should be better than this!" the head finally popped up, lashes drenched and sparking in the light, "and — and I can tell it’s too much. I can _see_ it, Christen. You keep bringing it up. Over and over again about school and signing and I _know_ that it’s time to leave. I know I should be excited and thankful and ready but—"

Christen just _shhh_ ’d, hand wrapping around the back of Mal’s neck, resting; trying. Trying to reassure. To show _with-ness._

There was a quarter-sized red spot on her forehead from the long press against her knees and it wrinkled as Mal’s eyebrows rose up and together. Worry lines creased again and again as her jaw worked too, trying to get something out.

"I’m _fucked up_ , Chris. I have no idea what I’m going to do and I’m so scared. I feel like nothing is stable. Nothing! And I — I don’t want to be alone." She whimpered. "I just want to be with _you._ I know it’s fucked up and I should be an adult but every time I think about leaving— _"_ Small hands reached out and twisted in Chris’s shirt. It seemed like Mal wasn’t even aware. Just clinging instinctually.

"All of that was just me trying to help you figure out what _you_ wanted! Not pushing you out. I have _loved_ living with you, and not once have I wished you were somewhere else. Mallory, I am not going _anywhere_."

A sharp breath out of her nose that would have been shattering glass had there been any sound attached. "But that’s the thing." A clearly labored swallow. All that emerged was a croak. "I _am."_

_Yeah. Fuck that._

_Family came first._

Christen’s back straightened. Her voice assumed the certainty of steel. _"_ Then we’ll find a way to stay together." Her hands were at the girl’s cheeks and Christen didn’t even know when it had happened. "We can figure something out. A school in Chicago — you’re so good, any school would want you. It may take a semester gap to figure it out and it wouldn’t be the best team but, but…" _no, she deserves better._ "Or we can make UCLA work! We’ll both stay here. Get an apartment if you want. I’ll ask for a transfer to Utah and come back every break we have. It would still be a lot of time apart but we could make it work."

She could see it in Mal’s eyes. She didn’t _want_ to see it in Mal’s eyes.

 _Move through it — we can do this_ :

"Or — or — we look for someplace that will sign us both! It wouldn’t be easy but I could ask ar—"

"Chris…"

The red-veined resignation was heartbreaking.

"We can figure it out! We can!"

" _Chris."_

Christen’s hand had somehow tangled in her own hair now— fisted in some fit of an emotion she couldn’t yet identify.

_Dammit._

_Dammit dammit dammit._

She sank against the couch back. "I know. …I know."

Mal shuffled in a slow drag back over to her own side of the couch, legs lifting to slip off of Christen’s lap until she could sit, arms tight around her knees against the far couch-arm. "It’s — it’s enough to know you would try. That you would want to."

It’s amazing how a one-cushion distance can feel like an ocean. "I wish _so_ much that there was a solution to this."

"One that didn’t cost one of us our careers."

Christen mirrored Mallory. The upholstered arm lay stiff and uncomfortable against her back but it felt fitting. She pulled her knees to her chest. "I hate this. I hate that you’ve been feeling this way. I hate that I didn’t know."

"I didn’t tell you. You can’t read my mind, Chris."

"You’ve been so frustrated though. Any time we talked about it. I should have—"

"Stop." Stern and wildly-affectionate had never shared room on a face so well. "It’s not your fault."

"But you’ve been dealing with this _alone_ , Mal. And I thought you knew that we were together in this now. That you could tell me anything. It was my job to make sure you knew that!"

The girl wiggled her toes; stared at the divots it pressed into the fabric, each impact’s design suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. "You can’t always _fix_ everything, Chris. Sometimes people need to handle things on their own. Deal with it their own way."

There was _something._

Something in that voice. Something underneath the surface…

Christen felt her stomach drop. Felt the purple of anxiety creeping into the full expanse of her dermis, traveling in angled madness like electricity from a summer storm.

"Mal…" — Christen’s hands were frozen. Body frozen. Suspended. "Mal, what do you mean _'their own way'_?"

Those feet just kept shoving divots in the couch.

"… Mal, look at me."

One rubber-band glance was all it took to confirm.

The world snapped with it.

Instantly the girl was standing, materialized beyond the coffee table looking like a woman possessed.

"I don’t want to do this."

Her eyes were flashing between panic and manic — a cursed energy that Christen could feel tipping into a tectonic shift. A rocky shake and shatter until cavernous separation felt imminent.

"I — I know I told her I would— but I can’t."

We’d settled on panic it seemed.

"I can’t!" and Mallory spun, momentum set, already paces towards the stairs when —

Her motion was halted by a leap over the coffee table and a sudden hand at her shoulder.

"Mal, please."

A tugging.

Mallory’s shoulder yielded an inch but her body was stiff. Then a voice emerged; small. "I don’t wanna _do_ this."

"Please turn around, honey. Please."

It was probably only three seconds but it felt interminable.

When it came, Christen wished she’d actually had a few more to prepare.

Mal was — she was —

To put it bluntly, Christen hadn’t thought Mal could look any more shattered than she did earlier.

…She’d been wrong.

"I didn’t mean to start again! I couldn’t help it, Chris!" Her eyes were shimmering pools that promised nothing but sorrow. Every shake in her tripped and stumbling words rippled across her face in an eery dissonance between beauty and despair. "It made me feel safe. It let me hide and I needed to hide! I needed it!" The shake turned into shudder and Christen grabbed her shoulders, warding off a break in the girl’s knees. "I _needed that_ , Christen. Don’t be mad." A tremble, and then a voice so small. "I won’t be able to take it if you’re mad."

Right as the shaking knees folded, Christen had her in her arms — a grip around her sides and one at the back of a knee saw the girl hefted then perched on her frame like a toddler, keening with the same haunting desolation of a loon on an Illinois night.

Christen gave herself one long moment to hold her close — to imagine that just this could heal — to hold the child Mal had so little chance to be — to gather everything she had —

Then she journeyed the few steps to the corner chair, sinking back until the girl could rest fully on her frame, wet seeping into the neck of her shirt. This needed to be answered and answered _now._

"I’m not mad. Mal, I promise I’m not mad.I love you and we’re going to work this out. I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving, and I will _never_ leave."

It came like prayers in the rosary her freshman roommate had clutched every night. Every bead a linked promise of salvation and hope. Christen spoke her own. Desperate, desperate to create a chain of her own. One Mal could walk down over and over until everything felt right again.

"I love you. I _love_ you. We’re going to get you help. And I’ll be there every step of the way, please believe me."

It was a questioning Stacy and a visibly anxious Lindsey at the entryway now, Stacy’s hands at the younger girl’s wrist like a tether. Christen held up a finger and shook her head as lightly as she could.

Stacy nodded and pulled them both (Lindsey seemingly very unhappy with their retreat) back through, leaving Christen with the quiet she needed to make this known.

She pulled back; angled so that she could look Mal in her reddened eyes.

"Mallory. You mean more to me than you could possibly imagine." She thought back to her mother. To their conversation upstairs just two months ago. How the words she’d said had twinged in an aching familiarity and a growing realization. "I love you _so much_ it’s like my heart doesn’t even fit in my chest. Like it grew so much with love that it had to split and nothing made sense until I could put part of it in you. And it’s there. It’s there to stay, baby, I promise it. I will work through this with you, and nothing could make me leave."

She put her hands on either side of Mallory’s hips, light as a feather over those cursed and hidden lines, but undeniably present in their gentle pressing.

" _This?_ This has _no_ power over us. None at all. And we’re gonna beat it, baby. We’re gonna do whatever it takes."

Mallory’s chin hooked over Christen’s shoulder, nose sneaking into the depths of her hair.

"And you could go anywhere in the world, Mallory. You could get any degree, play for any team, you could quit soccer and become a chef, and sweet-one, that love would still be right there. And any time you are scared, or lonely, or missing home — there it still is. Right there with you. Your home isn’t Chicago, baby. Your home is right" she tapped her own chest "here, and my home is right," she tapped the girl’s back, leaving her hand resting warm and solid behind her heart, "here. That means wherever you are, there I am, ok? And wherever I am, there you are. And whenever you decide it’s time to go we’ll just learn a new way. We’ll talk on the phone, and we’ll visit, and _yes_ , we’ll have our own lives in whatever place we’re in. You’re going to be so full and so happy. You have so much ahead of you. So many people you’re going to love. So much purpose you’re going to find. But no matter what. This—" she squeezed around those slim ribs — tucked her own chin over Mal’s shoulder and pulled it tight. "This isn’t gonna change, sweetheart. Not ever. Never. Never never never. I promise you."

A shuddering breath emerged from the depth of curly hair but it was accompanied with a muffled voice—"Even at UCLA?"

Christen couldn’t help but sigh in relief. _She’s listening. She’s letting me in. Please god, let her believe it_. _Let her know._

The answer was swift and definitive.

"Yes."

"Even in Sweden?"

"Yes."

"Even in Orlando?"

"Yes."

Mal nudged her nose further in, chuckling wet but warm — "even if I become an astronaut and go to the moon?"

Christen laughed softly — let herself enjoy the warmth between her palms and Mal’s back — that the girl was letting her stay here. Letting her hold her. "My love would literally survive even the cold vacuum of space."

"…Promise?"

"With everything I am."

Mallory’s arms snuck fully around Christen’s waist and her chin came back into the air, cheek pressed against the bend of her protector’s neck and shoulder, mouth breathing fresh and a joyfully light air. Like everything was a little lighter. Like birds might be waking up.

Whispered.

"I love you, Chris."

Christen wiped her face with the back of a hand, the other cradling around the girl’s head — reverent and safe.

"Right back at you, babylove."

Stacy came into the room with two mugs, Lindsey tracking behind with tissues and the blanket Mal had taken to claiming for movie nights.

There was work to do, and health to reclaim.

But they would make it through.

Perhaps love always would, Christen mused.

Love and hot chocolate; the sweetest miracles she knew.

* * *

That night, all three of them squeezed their way into Christen’s high school bed; Mal squinched in the middle with the older women tucking various limbs around her from either side.

Mal had never felt so content as a sandwich.

It had been almost an hour of this. Just love and promises and, ok, yes, a little of the not fun stuff too like talking about _why_ things had gone so out of control, but now they were in the happy part where she just felt held and safe and welcome and —

There was a knock on the door —

"Hey, I just came in to say goodnight."

It was Lindsey hovered awkwardly near the door, back of her heel bumping rhythmically and silent into the frame as she waited, unsure who to look at.

"Come here," Mal beckoned, folding over onto her back and shoving Christen and Tobin out with her elbows a little, the latter grumbling as she caught it in the ribs.

"Mal!"

"Oh hush, you’re fine. Come here, Linds."

The blonde crept to the foot of the bed, standing with her hands twisting behind her back. "I’m glad you’re feeling better than earlier."

Mal just lofted both arms above the blankets, making grabby motions with her hands.

"Um… there’s not a lot of room in there."

Nearby, Christen laughed and rolled her eyes at the now visibly pouting teenager.

"It’s just for a minute. Lie down with us."

With a panic-tinged glance at the women to either side, and a strong swallow as Christen just raised an eyebrow and Tobin shrugged from her slumped position on the precarious edge, Lindsey settled her knees onto the foot of the bed and sorta bumbled her way up on either side of Mal’s legs until she could slump over the supine frame and lay her head on the girl’s chest.

Hands instantly entrenched themselves in her luminous locks. "You have such nice hair. I liked the brown, but this is really nice."

Lindsey just hummed, navigating her arms in an attempt to settle them with as little disturbance to the older women as possible.

"Seriously, Chris, feel her hair!"

A hand gave a scrunch and smooth over her crown.

"Yes, very nice, Mal."

Lindsey could practically hear the pout.

"You barely touched it." Mal sniffed and shoved her own fingers in again, scratching lightly in that way that made Lindsey’s vision go a little hazy on the sides. "Don’t worry, baby. I appreciate you."

"You know, _I_ could be getting head scratches from _my_ girlfriend right now, but nooooooo, somehow we’ve become those people whose kids crawl into bed in the middle of the night."

Lindsey snorted.

"You love me."

Lindsey snorted again — that girl had no shame.

Fittingly, the girl in question sighed happily and resettled, head tilting towards Christen as the older woman smiled over from the pillow.

The youngest one whispered. "I know there are days where it’s hard for me to see. But then I remember that, all things considered, I’m a really lucky girl."

If she wasn’t in bed with two other people, Lindsey would have snuck a kiss to that collarbone oh-so-near. Instead she just tightened her grip around the slender ribs.

"We’ll do our best to remind you, baby," Christen whispered, smiling at the sight of Tobin’s hand sneaking over to tuck the girl’s hair behind her ear, resting fondly nearby at its finish.

"I’m sorry for the chaos I —"

" _Shh._ It’s just living, Mal. We all get the cards we’re dealt, and we’re just trying to make the best hand possible."

"But —"

It was Tobin this time. "No, Mal. She’s right. You are not and never have been a trouble. To _any_ of us. Ok?"

The girl sniffed, the hands in Lindsey’s hair having slowed during the exchange.

"I’m really thankful for you guys."

Lindsey couldn’t help it. She kissed the sternum under her, rubbing her nose briefly to communicate what she knew Mallory could translate.

The fingers gripped tighter, gratefully, and a thumb slipped across her cheek as Lindsey’s eyes settled again, lulled by the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Suddenly, a hand landed on her shoulder, larger, and it took her a moment to realize it was Tobin.

Tobin including her in this moment struck Lindsey like a sudden love-bomb to the heart.

She sniffled.

A giggle.

"What!" Lindsey laughed wetly. "This has all been a really sweet moment! I’m human, ok!"

Mal pulled her up a little higher, Lindsey shuffling until she could slip her nose into the place between shoulder and neck.

For several long moments they all breathed, enjoying the warmth of human presence and the glow of the bedside lamp.

Then —

" _Chriiiiiis."_ The pathetic whine had the mentioned forward giggling instantly.

"Alright girls, I think that’s the sign that Tobin wants her bed back now."

"Noooooo, snuggly!" from an impish wastrel.

"Sorry, Mal, it’s about that time. _BUT—"_

Lindsey and Mallory both cocked their heads up, intrigued by the new tone.

"MAYbe it’s ok for Lindsey to sleep in your bed toni—"

Already the two were scrambling, Lindsey back-shuffling on her knees to a stand, her counterpart comically caught up in blankets as she tried to crawl out from between her two bedmates, a knee landing in Tobin’s ribs evoking a woofed exhale as the girl bounce-crawled to the edge —

"Thanks, Chris!" Both of them now smiling, tumbling like puppies to the door —

"And NO funny business!"

"No, definitely not! Promi—" as giggles disappeared behind the suddenly shut door.

A sulking Tobin with a hand to her side curled towards a Christen still glaring suspiciously at the door.

" _Chriiiis."_

The glare dissolves into a chuckle and grin. "My poor baby, come here, honey," Christen cooed as she slid over to a lip-stuck pout of a girlfriend, eyes big and hoping as long arms snuck their way around her, dragging Tobin’s body into alignment with hers. "It’s ok. We’ve got our bed back, baby. Just you and me."

Tobin played up her injuries, whining from her throat as she nosed into Christen’s neck, fluttering her lashes intentionally against the underside of her chin.

"What is it, honey? What’s my baby need?"

She nosed for one long dramatic moment, sighing piteously.

"Hmm, baby?"

"Will you…"

"…Yes?"

And with a sudden withdrawal and a peck on the nose, Tobin grinned like a kid with a fistful of tickets at Chuck E. Cheese. "Write on my back more?"

Christen rolled her eyes and laughed, returning the nose peck with a grin.

"I’ve created a monster." She scooted back. "Ok, lie down."

Tobin snuggled down into her blissfully teammate-free-except-for-one mattress with a beatific smile.

"Let’s do a whole Harry Potter theme."

A warm kiss landed on her cheek, and a palm smoothed down her shirt.

"Anything you like. Let’s begin."

* * *

2am found her gasping into the black again — maybe the bang of a shutter at the window, but more likely the fanged and hulking creature she had been hiding from in a dark house, desperate for any way out, running from room to room and passageways and ducts and panic and —

Christen was out cold.

She pondered waking her, she did. But how did people really _do_ that? She knew Christen had said that she could — that she wanted her to. But there is one thing to hearing it and quite another to looking at a sleeping human and knowing that, upon waking them, they would be expecting to meet you in the very vulnerability that made you wake in fear.

How do you feel vulnerable and actually wake someone to _see it_? Doesn’t that kind of counteract the entire thing?

It wasn’t like she didn’t trust Christen. She’d been so good since the beach house. And before, obviously, too but especially with everything there. God, Tobin could let her trace her back for hours and just soak in the way it made her feel. Christen made her feel safe! She did! 

But she couldn’t quite get herself to do it.

It was like with the sex thing.

Like, wanting it, but also not. The strange darkness that clung in her belly and stuck its claws inside the walls of her as anxiety spun it like a circus flyer in a windstorm.

The shutter clattered again — speaking of.

She hadn’t figured it all out, honestly. And Christen had handled that so gracefully. Was so willing to stop even when Tobin’s only reasoning had been "I don’t think I can handle that right now." And she was glad she’d received it — was thankful for the —

But mostly she wondered _why_ Christen was so okay with it. Maybe just out of her own guilt of being like — well, let’s not even mention his name — but even though she _shouldn’t_ be worried about being like him, she was. And that was enough of a distraction to keep her from getting frustrated with Tobin, because how could she _not_ be?

Tobin herself was frustrated. Downright pissed really. Angry at her own mind and its inability to _process_ because Christen was _perfect._ She was! And Tobin trusted her, and she was so good, and Tobin wanted to learn everything about her, and share everything with her, and touch and love and know but —

Ok, it was like this. You know how Hogwarts has this spell on it that makes muggles not able to see it? It’s not that it’s invisible, right? But it’s that it sorta makes them just … walk _around_ it. Like they are heading right towards it and instead they get distracted or get peckish for dinner or they see a flower they want to go look at, and just like that they’re in a completely different part of the forest nowhere near that big empty spot on the map they’d been meaning to explore in the first place!

Maybe that made sense. Tobin didn’t know. It was late and her brain was fuzzy and her lungs still calming down and —

But it was like that.

She wanted to have sex. She wanted to share herself with Christen. She wanted to give everything over. And something was holding her back.

But then she’d try to go there in her mind — or real life even! — and damnably she’d end up somewhere else entirely and with no idea what had made her swerve from her goal in the first place.

Like the reason behind it all had a cloaking spell and if Tobin could just _get_ there she could solve it, could see what was holding her back…

And DAMMIT she’d missed it again!

Water. She needed water. Her mind was racing and it was too late for this and a glass of water would do the trick.

Tobin carefully lifted herself out of bed, trying to hold the blankets in place even as she moved so that Christen wouldn’t feel the drag and wake. She’d had an emotional day with Mal. She deserved to rest.

And then she was on the stairs, skipping that familiar third step and its tell-tale squeak.

Then padding through the living room, feet bare and light-footed as they pressed the carpet.

Then into the kitchen where she patted the wall for the light-switch, found the plastic and —

"Fucking SHIT!" 

"WHO IS—"

Tobin and Cody Press stood frozen in the sudden light, Tobin with her hand grasped at her heaving chest and Cody with a treat bag thrust out in the air like it could shapeshift into a sword if he willed it and —

"You _TERRIFIED_ me, Cody!"

"You’re the one sneaking up on an old man!"

He was wide-eyed but a chuckle began to weave into his panting, the two waiting dogs now visible at his feet.

"What are you —"

"The storm," he cut in, still a bit on edge even as he laughed. "You can hear it coming right? The dogs get anxious. I was going to give them a treat. And the badminton set is up. We should have looked at the weather. Taken it down."

Tobin spilled the laugh of the near-dead, heart still pounding but an odd humor to the terror of it all. "Oh." Breathed. "Do you need help?"

"No, no, I’ve got it." He set the bag on the counter and cocked his head. "What are you here for?"

_Oh. Right._

"Water. I woke up and — water."

He smiled kindly, Tobin now noticing his plaid pajama pants hiked a little high on his dad-belly, and the Stanford Dad shirt that looked like it had seen better days. It was sorta sweet.

"Let me get you a glass."

And he did so, walking to the cabinet for the family set, then the refrigerator for the filter. It was one of the slow ones, leaving them standing for more seconds than you’d anticipate but it was a comfortable silence mostly, the sleepy house seeming to rest back under its covers after the fright, and tucking in against the press of the storm outside.

"Here you go."

The press of his hand over hers when the other passed the glass was comforting; a fatherly gesture that was as warm as his big palm.

She’d been wanting this actually.

A moment with him because —

He was turning around —

"Wait, Mr. Press!" He turned.

"Cody."

"Cody. I wanted to talk about something with you."

His eyes traced to the clock on the wall, a bit bemused, but he looked back at her with invitation.

"Sure. What’s going on?"

"You, um. Christen said you got the piano tuned. At the beach house."

The bemusement on his face stayed even as his feet planted solidly in their house slippers.

"I did. Did it sound alright?"

"Flawless actually. I’ve never played on anything like it."

"Then it was a good gift. I’m happy you were able to enjoy it." He moved now, but just back to the island.

Ah, right, the treats.

Morena and Khaleesi were whining behind him like ducklings, eyeing the outdoors suspiciously. He opened the bag, it going oddly loud as things will in the small hours, to get them each a treat as Tobin hovered unsure near the door, water glass sweating onto her hand.

He served them each, one by one, with a scratch on the head before leaning up again, wiping his hands on his knees and turning to the side door, the night picking up with a tree-squeak and wind-whine outside. "I’m going to take down the set. You can hear the storm coming." He grabbed the door handle —

_Shit. Keep going, Tobin._

"Wait!"

He turned again. "Yes?"

_Just tell him._

"I saw the certificate."

"Sorry?"

Her free hand worried at the back of her neck. Tobin shoved it in her pocket in a (mostly failed) effort at stillness. "You didn’t just get it tuned. You got it restrung. This level of piano, they leave a certificate when they do that. I saw it. So I know you did."

"Ah." His body settled against the closed door now, lips sucking audibly against his teeth, an admission and an acceptance in one. "…I’ll admit I didn’t know that."

"Cody." She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stay still. She set the glass on the counter, hands coming back to fidget at her sides — one testing a loose string on her sweatpants, the other rubbing each finger tip against her thumb in a repetitive cycle. "…That was probably $2000 _minimum_. And then to do it on a holiday break _and_ call day of? You… you must have paid" she swallowed "a _lot_."

"It was significant, yes." The words were diminished by his casual lean against the doorframe, mouth turned upward again in a hint of amusement.

"You didn’t need to— that was too—" she huffed, trying to put her words together; straightened her shoulders. "I want to help pay for it. Christen didn’t know what she was asking for."

"It was a gift. One I was happy to provide."

"But _why?_ She would have understood if it couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t have even known it was a possibility."

The silence was surprising. The evaluating eyes even more so.

"…Why do _you_ think I paid for it, Tobin?"

_What did that matter?_

_It was too much._

"Because Christen wanted to hear me play? Because it was her birthday gift?"

It was too late for this — or too early. She just wanted to say thank you and pay him back. She wasn’t ready for a _conversation_ on it.

"Tobin, Christen hasn’t let us buy her a gift since she signed in Sweden."

_What?_

"Um. I — I didn’t know that." Tap one, two, three, four. Each fingertip to her thumb, and then over again.

"She just says we’ve given her enough already and that we can consider adding our own donation to whichever organization she’s chosen."

"Then why did she ask for _this?_ "

The silent evaluation continued.

"I think I’d rather leave you to figure that out."

 _I can’t figure_ anything _out._

"Cody, _please._ "

She couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or just unfailingly socratic.

"Some things in life are worth the cost, Tobin."

"She doesn’t even play!"

"No, she doesn’t."

The forgotten water glass was slowly leaving a ring around its base.

How could he stare so _long?!_

The storm was picking up outside and Tobin flinched at another sudden shutter-crash against the window.

She regretted this. She regretted it and she wanted to go curl up on a couch all by herself with no-one else there and all the doors locked and nurse a hot chocolate. Or just go find a bed to cover her head with a pillow and let her mind be a cave. Or a closet. And no don’t make a joke because this was serious. This was 15 year old Tobin huddled in the janitor’s closet during study hour because she just needed to turn it all off. Needed to pause. Needed —

But he spoke the moment she made to turn and it was its own pause button. The command of quiet and knowing. Quicksand.

"It’s scary isn’t it?"

She couldn’t even speak. Just look. A rabbit frozen in a snare.

"…Seeing someone care so much."

He could write entire sermons with his eyes.

She felt like every fig leaf had been stripped away.

_I need to think. I need to —_

She spun and went for the doorway — for another room — for something solid to hide behind.

One final offering caught her on the threshold; paused her, even with her back turned.

"You don’t owe her anything, Tobin, remember that. It’ll never work unless it’s free."

She stayed turned; forehead burning with weight. But she couldn’t resist this call and response. Not if she tried.

"…What won’t?"

The only answer was a whistle, paws slipping on the tile, and the rattle-bang-kiss of a closing door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kelley: I can’t go. Stress is bad for the baby.  
> Alex: What baby!?!?!  
> Kelley: *tearing up* me. 
> 
> Because you know I love comments: Thoughts on the chapter?


	16. The Battles We Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God, how did we get here?
> 
> She took a deep breath. Wind howled and bit at her ankles. 
> 
> ...Welcome to New Jersey. 
> 
> "Ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ali: You’re so strong. Really. I’m so proud of you.  
> Megan: It’s been tough, I’ll admit. But it helped me realize that nothing in life comes easy.  
> Ashlyn: I can definitely agree with that.  
> Ashlyn:  
> Ashlyn: …Except Ali. She comes easy.  
> Ali: Goddamnit I KNEW you were gonna say that. 
> 
> \---------------------------
> 
> Well, it's been a heckin long time and I have had a heckin lot of angst in my life in that time. 
> 
> Join me on the dark side. 
> 
> (Trigger warnings in end notes)
> 
> (But don't worry. This story will still end happily - promise.)

**1/3/17**

"Hey, thanks for coming."

The woman, seemingly far too comfortable in the frigid air with just her unzipped puffer jacket (certainly the love child of a ski ad and the center row of Costco), was backlit by that odd fractious lemon of all hotel lobbies. Christen hitched her own down parka tighter around the neck, then shivered anyway when the movement left her wrists defenseless to the cold instead.

She hated being cold.

"Of course. How could I not."

The wan smile offered in return was stretched, looking as if all it really desired was to hide between a careless set of teeth again if the chapped and bruised lips were any sign.

A family trait then?

Christen’s stomach flopped.

She missed California.

Or, less California, and more the little enclave of normalcy they’d built there over the last week. Her father’s coffee in the morning — the cinnamon he always put over the grounds before brewing. Mallory on the floor with the dogs, giggling and smiling like a teenage girl who Christen _wouldn’t_ have to take to a therapist the moment she got back to Chicago. Channing even, with her jokes and edge but the constant affection pulsing through it all.

…Her mom.

She missed her mom already.

She wanted her mom.

A particularly harsh gust swept around the parking lot, fingers sneaking up the back of her legs through the gap between jean and sock, and she shuddered.

"Ready to go up?"

The lobby-lemon lit a halo around her hair. That paired with the moon and parking lot lights ricocheting against mounds of dirty ice created an off, sort of liminal world Christen felt scared to break.

Even if it was a world where slush was 60 seconds away from soaking through her AF1s.

_God, how did we get here?_

She took a deep breath.

Wind howled and bit at her ankles.

Welcome to New Jersey.

"Ready."

* * *

**Three days earlier  
**12/31/16  
**New Year’s Eve  
**Palos Verdes, California** ******

__

"Get up, it’s my turn."

"Murrrrrr."

"What even is that?"

Christen laughed, tucking her arms tighter around the girl sprawled on top of her, eyes still lazy with relaxation. "I think it’s her way of saying that you’re gonna have to fight her for it."

"For cuddling with my girlfriend?!" Tobin’s eyes widened as her lips pouted slightly, hands against her hips like a petulant toddler.

Christen just smirked and scritched a hand in the depths of Mal’s hair who sighed happily, then wriggled to press her forehead deeper in the space between couch arm and the top of Christen’s supine shoulder. "I’m just sayin’, the kid saw an opportunity and took it."

"I was drinking coffee with your dad!"

A giggle erupted somewhere in the vicinity of the crook of Christen’s neck: "You snooze you loose, Tobito."

Tobin whined.

The lounge chair behind her laughed. "Audacious — and impressive, Mal. Tobin, just come here, baby. I’ll braid your hair while you wait."

The midfielder in question stuck her tongue out at the sparkling glint in her girlfriend’s eyes, then eyed the space behind her before taking a step back and collapsing into a sit a few inches in front of Stacy’s knees.

Fingers prodded at her shoulder.

"Closer, hun."

Tobin could feel her cheeks pinking already as she glanced back, a divot digging its way into her lower lip.

The older woman laughed at the unasked question, then scooted forward and patted her thighs. "That’s right — you sit right here between my knees."

With one more confirming glance, Tobin shuffled the distance back, scapulae nestling up against the chair front, shoulders settling between the ramparts of Stacy’s legs.

"Now do you want a classic, French, or fishtail?"

"Hm?…" The press of calves against her biceps was distracting. The little alcove created by it all. _Is this ok? Do I pull my arms in so they don’t touch?_ _What is the proper etiquette for this?_ because she certainly didn’t know.

"Do the fishtail, mom. Her hair is perfect for it. Check the highlights… insane, right?"

Tobin froze at the confident fingers poised at her temple — surrendered to the command of the tips as they tilted her head this way and that: evaluating.

"Just sun-bleached, really."

"Sun-kissed," Stacy shot back. Tobin could hear the smile in her voice. "Alright, let’s see here…"

As the digits began their careful sorting and separating of lengths of hair, Tobin sank into the space a bit. Wondered at the odd and growing feel of this process she’d thought existed only in girlish books about boarding school. Sort of… tingly, maybe? But nice.

She let herself study the sensation longer.

Ok — Ok, yeah. Like laying on the grass in the summer, you know? When the heat prickles across your bare skin and the light is so present it’s actually _physical_ for a moment. Touching. Making you more aware of your skin than you’d ever thought humanly necessary. But then, maybe it wasn’t even about utility, right? Just… goodness. Or _being_ or something. Was that stupid? But that’s what this felt like, all the same.

And the gentle tugs of the whole affair. She must do this often because there was no pain in it at all. Tobin had always just thrown her hair up in a ponytail as a kid — hated the way brushes caught on the constant tangles of an active kid’s crown.

But this was nice.

Really nice.

Her eyes tipped closed and Stacy hummed some pleased note; jostled her shoulders with her knees in a language Tobin wasn’t sure she spoke, but it read like a noticing. Like a "See, there you go, just sit right here and the world is just gonna have to wait outside for awhile."

Tobin made her hand stop its drumming against the floor.

Then took a good and filling breath.

Her other hand curved loosely around the aged woman’s ankle and came to rest.

Then, with the barest quirk of a lip, she sunk deeper against the chair, turned her brain off, and made the damn world wait.

On the couch, Christen smiled.

* * *

**1/3/17  
**Basking Ridge, New Jersey** **

"She hasn’t talked yet. It’s like she’s just… frozen. Barely moved even. I mean, she came to the car with me and then the hotel too, but — it was like — like — nobody was inside."

Perry changed weight to her other leg.

"I’ve never seen her like this. I mean, she could go silent as a kid sometimes when she was mad or upset, but never too long. And it’s been a day practically! Granted, she slept a lot of it, but…"

Christen just held on to the bar behind her, fingers bleaching at the knuckles as her grasp pulsed.

The screen of the floor number glowed as it ticked slowly up one more level.

"I just… I don’t know what to do. We’ve only recently reconnected the way we _used_ to be, you know," she ran a hand through her hair, so like Tobin’s, "and I love her but I don’t… I also don’t know her anymore. Not really. I love her and I know her past and that’s huge. But the way she operates now…?"

The glow flickered as another floor passed.

"It’s just… I feel so—" she huffed, swiping through that honey brown in another tangled motion.

"It’s ok, Perry. Soccer is hard and it’s easy to get distant. But you mean so much to her."

"And I _wish_ I could do something for her. But Tom’s had the kids and he’s probably gone through the breast milk in the freezer and —"

Christen grabbed her hand before it completed its third pass, likely taking hair along with it this time. "Perry. It’s ok. Let me help. I _want_ to help. I wanted to come in the first place, before we even knew what was — well. Before that."

Perry squeezed her hand back a little, eyes softening around the edges. "She told you not to come, right?"

Christen’s abdomen seized. "Did she… did she tell you that?"

"No, but it’s just the sort of stupid self-sacrificing thing I’d expect from her."

Well, Christen didn’t know if it was that. What if… well, what if when it came down to it, Tobin just didn’t trust her yet? Didn’t trust her with the big things. The tough things. Maybe she hadn’t—

"Stop that. It’s not you. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can guess."

The soccer player pulled her hand back. Rubbed the palm against her jeans before grabbing onto the rail again.

God, this elevator was so fucking _slow._

"I hurt her before. During a tough time. Not the best track record."

Perry snorted.

It was a strange sound. Too loud for the strange situation they found themselves in.

"Well, she told me about you for the first time after that. And she may have been mad, but she was still ass over heels for you even then. All blushing and —" Perry seemed to get caught up in a memory for a moment. Frowned a bit. Sighed. "The point is, she still wanted you with her. Even then, Christen, she’d want you here."

"But what if —"

The doors slid open with a raucous 'ding', revealing an ice machine and a wallpapered hallway just beyond.

"Room 804. Right up ahead."

Christen swallowed a stone.

She stepped out.

* * *

**Three days earlier  
12/31/16  
**New Year’s Eve  
**Palos Verdes, California** ****

****

"The braid really does look nice."

Tobin hummed as Christen’s hand made another admiring pass, the rock of the hammock nestling their bodies closer like the fishing boats on the lake they went to some summers — how the wake would knock each row of tied skiffs together in a beautiful sonic marriage of thump and swish.

All wood and water.

All elbows and give.

Maybe they could rent a houseboat together one day. Somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. Lay in a bed that rocked them to sleep, bodies drifting closer like driftwood in the night.

Her mind rode the tide elsewhere on the next swing.

She hummed again. Opened her eyes to find those rose lips just inches away.

Thought about kissing them.

Drifted back.

"We’re going to have to figure out how to help Mal."

Swing.

" _We?_ "

The retort was softened by the slightest curl of the leftmost joining of her lips, so Tobin left it to ride the eddy of her mind and slip past untouched.

"Yeah, _we_." She nudged her finger into the other woman’s side. "She may live with you but…," then stroked it once with the same finger and an absent-minded noise, "well, she’s—"

swing,

"—sort of…" her eyes met those soft lips again. The lingering loft in the corner. "…ours, ya know?"

"I hadn’t realized we’d signed up for parenthood together."

Tobin let the hammock just sway. Closed her eyes in the California winter sun.

Christen kissed her nose. Barely had to move to do it. "I know."

Breathe.

Swing.

"I love her so much."

Tobin smiled softly even as her hand trailed up and blindly cupped; stroked the cheekbone above an anxious jaw."I know."

Breathe.

Swing.

"It all happened so _quickly_ when you think about it. But I love her so _much_."

Closed-eyed, Tobin nuzzled forward until her nose met a chin — nudged it before dragging up. Kissed that honest mouth.

Christen intensified it, a sudden pitch in the pressing; in the tongue claiming.

Tobin met it. Received it. Then calmed it.

Left another blind and soothing kiss.

"I know."

* * *

_"Tobin?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"I’d have a kid with you. One day. If you wanted."_

_Breathe._

_Swing._

_Tobin let it nudge her closer, the sway._

_Tucked her head under the woman’s chin._

_Felt the blood tide of her body._

_Felt the carotid pulse thrilled and strong._

* * *

**1/3/17  
**Basking Ridge, New Jersey** **

Perry stopped them just outside the door.

"Ok, so the goals are shower, change clothes — I grabbed her bag from the house — and eat something. I got a bagel in her about 6 hours ago but that was it. And… well, if you can get her to talk…"

"It’s ok, Perry. I’ll take care of her."

The harried woman wrung her hands. Glanced anxiously at the door.

"I’ve got her. Promise."

Familiar doe eyes, just slightly off in color met hers.

Then, almost as if on impulse, the woman threw her arms around her and smacked a kiss to her cheek. "I’m really glad to meet you, Christen."

Christen squeezed back.

* * *

**Three days earlier  
**12/31/16  
**New Year’s Eve  
**Palos Verdes, California** ******

"Hah! My turn now, Pugh. And don’t you dare try to cut in line!"

Mal sniffed. "Joke's on you. I’ve got my _own_ girlfriend to pair up with, Toe-bee."

Tobin grumbled. "You can’t cuddle with your girlfriend too?"

"I’d already _had_ girlfriend cuddles. I wanted _Christen_ cuddles!"

"You live with her! You get to have cuddles anytime you w— HEY!"

Channing smirked as she swung up from her scooping of the badminton racket off the ground, then ducked under the net to join a laughing Christen mid-eye-roll on the other side.

"And _both_ of you play on a team with her. Now scram. I claim Christen to play mom and dad. You squabblers can wait on the sidelines until we finish our 2 out of 3."

The midfielder pouted at her girlfriend who shrugged with a _what can you do?_ grin as Channing threw her free arm around her.

"MOM, DAD, GET DOWN HERE. Press show down! Let’s show the losers how it’s really done!"

With a dramatized abandon for her still watching (and laughing) girlfriend, Tobin collapsed onto one of the loungers, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. "Woe is ME."

All the air left her body with a WOOF.

She wheezed. "Mal!"

The teenager looked pleased as punch as she adjusted her seat on top of the winded brunette. "What? Now I want _Tobin_ cuddles."

"Wait, me too!"

A much-too-tall-for-this blonde suddenly flung herself on top of the pile, scattering the bit of air Tobin had reclaimed. The bodies on top of her giggled as they both nestled into an impossible but somehow surviving pile in the crevasses of their elder and the creaking chair.

From the court, Christen winked, then snapped a pretend picture with her lofted hands; kissed it and tucked it in her back pocket.

Squashed under the two chatting girls and finally grinning back at those bright green eyes, Tobin laughed.

She never wanted to leave.

* * *

**1/3/17  
Basking Ridge, New Jersey  
**

_What ifshe doesn’t want me here?  
_

_What if she kicks me out?_

_Just knock, Christen._

_But what if …_

_What if this is more than I can handle?_

_What if I’m not enough for this? Should I call someone else? Allie?_

_But she’d be hours from this point._

_Too long._

_Just knock._

_You’ve got the keycard. She doesn’t even need to get up to let you in._

_Knock._

_But maybe I should go get food first. Yeah. Go pick something up so it’s ready right away._

_I should leave and do that._

She moved to step away and —

_Fuck. No._

_Woman up, Christen._

_Just knock._

Her head sank against the painted wood.

_Dammit, Christen, just KNOCK._

* * *

**Three days earlier  
**12/31/16  
**New Year’s Eve  
**Palos Verdes, California** ******

**"** Everybody ready?!?"

Cody was poised like he was about to take a leap with a kazoo in one hand, a lit sparkler in the other, and a paper hat dangerously close to catching on fire.

Channing cheered as her and Lindsey sparred with their sparking epees. "BRING ON 2017!!!"

Mal stood chatting about something in Stacy’s arms as the older woman’s head tossed back in a laugh, the dogs barking happily around their feet.

Tobin blushed as Christen’s eyes met hers, brighter than the embers of her dying firework.

"Our first new year."

Seriously, that woman’s eyes deserved their own caution warning. Shouldn’t be allowed through TSA they were so incendiary. Tobin shivered as her abdomen sparked in response. "But not the last."

Cody stared at his watch, gleeful.

"Ok, get ready — Get —

THREE.

TWO."

Lindsey giggled as Channing’s sparkler died and the woman pouted. "En garde!"

"ONE!"

Their little gated backyard erupted in noise — kazoos, and cheers, and "happy new years!", and barking and

BOOM

Fireworks erupted over the water in brilliant flashes of blue! and orange! and white!

as Lindsey threw Mal over her shoulder and ran around the grass inexplicably singing "All I want for Christmas is you" in C-sharp giggles, and Stacy and

BOOM

Cody were kissing, and Channing was on the ground shouting "good girls! Good girls!" as Morena and Khaleesi —

BOOM FIZZ BOOM

Tobin felt a hand pull at the stomach of her shirt.

The living flame tugged her in close until their hips bumped in the frantic night.

Dandelion Fires scattered in the sky with audible racket, almost drowning the

"I’m so glad you’re here."

There was gold and green and fizzle and bright! and —

Christen and Tobin kissed in this beautiful, booming, populated night.

The whole world folded in and up onto this postage stamp of land,

Tobin’s body-turned-love-letter of forest courting fire and

 _yes_

yes, every good thing in the world was written in the envelope of this moment, in the damp heat of their bodies, in their sealing by a multitude of kisses, by

laughter and

BOOM

thunder rattling like loose kindling around the yard and

she had never felt so alive —

so _living_ —

in her life.

And so she kissed her.

They kissed.

They kissed till her lips were bruised.

Till all the oxygen on earth burned up.

* * *

**1/3/17  
Basking Ridge, New Jersey  
**

Christen took one more gulping breath.

Then knocked.

"Tobin? Tobin, it’s Christen."

Nothing.

She knocked again.

"Honey? I’m —"

She took a deep breath.

"I’m coming in ok? It’s just me, and I’m coming in."

_Fuck. Ok. Just do it._

_Like Nike._

_Tobin loved Nikes._

_For a woman who didn’t have a permanent address for years, she certainly owned a lot of shoes._

_Her style was so c—_

_Stop it._

_Go in._

Ignoring the pounding in her chest cavity, Christen slipped the card out of her pocket. Her hands were sweaty and she rubbed them against her jeans in alternating passes of the card from grasp to grasp.

_Ok._

One more breath.

She slipped it in.

The light turned green with a small beep.

Christ, was there a _pony_ in there kicking the living daylights out of her ribs?

She grasped the handle, pushed down, and pushed in.

Then with a sluggish effort, she stepped into the emerging room.

It was…

Well, just like any other hotel room.

Should that feel so _weird?_ But, like, this could have been camp. This could have been any game. This could have been Christen crying as she touched herself and Tobin still pretending not to hear in the other bed.

But it was a hotel room with Tobin unmoving under the covers, facing the far wall. Quiet.

Christen set her bag against the closest bed, then went about the business of unzipping her massive coat. It took longer than she expected, and louder. It felt downright raucous in the suspended silence of the room as she slipped it off, catching at the shoulders for a moment as she struggled to get free, and set it on a chair. Toed off her shoes and set her phone on the dresser.

Then turned back toward the bed.

The scene remained exactly the same.

"It’s me, baby. I — Well, Perry had to go home to the kids. But she told me what happened. Not — not much. I guess she didn’t know much? But, I’m here, ok? For whatever you need. I’m here."

Just quiet.

Christen crept closer. Drew to the other side of the bed, looking down over the quilted mass. Tobin’s honey hair was spilling from the top of it, another sort of small hill in front of that which must have been a gap to breathe.

She leaned a knee on the bed, testing.

Tobin didn’t move.

But she didn’t complain either.

_Ok._

She sunk more fully, pulling up the other leg as well. Inched forward until she was kneeling just behind the fetal body.

Reached a hand to the top of the quilt and tentatively started to pull down —

A hand shot out of the gap and grabbed Christen’s wrist; held it stationary.

Christen swallowed. Adjusted her knees until she could sit on her heels.

"Tobin…" the hand stayed lofted; poised at the precipice of this potential unveiling. "Tobin, baby. I love you. I love you. Let me see you, please."

The choked sound beneath the patterned shroud made Christen’s heart seize.

"Let me see you."

There was a long pause…

And then the hand released.

Hovered.

And snuck back under the blanket.

Christen swallowed, shifted, and took a deep breath. Then, she reached her hand to the hem and pulled it carefully down.

With every inch, Tobin came more into view.

Her hair a messy tangle over her face in the brush of blanket.

Her hand curled in a loose fist over her hidden eyes.

Christen brushed it away — that tender silken sweep of it — and tucked it behind an ear.

"Tobin…"

With a gentle tug, the woman’s body unfurled — slowly, just as her fist did. There was a gravity to it, like watching what you thought was a mountain begin to rise and reshape with the deep grumble of shifting earth until you realized it wasn’t a mountain at all but a sleeping giant, slumbering for millennia, finally shaking off the vestiges of sleep into the first moment of awareness of a new world.

The landform unfolded into the strong but small body of what was simply a woman.

A woman who rolled over, twisting, until she could settle long and heavy onto her back, dead eyes rising to meet an anxious seeking green.

* * *

**Two days earlier  
1/1/17  
New Year’s Day  
Palos Verdes, California**

"Are you ok, sweetlove?"

The hand kept stirring at the cream in the coffee, even though the billowing cloud had long since dissipated into the even nut-brown of a cafe au lait.

"Tobin?"

She startled up. "Hm?"

Stacy chuckled, though not unkindly. But not brightly either. It was in the middle — a curious chuckle if you will. The expulsion of a sound shaped like a question mark, but breathed from the lungs of a woman with a happy outlook on life.

"I asked if you were ok. You seemed a little out of it."

"Oh. Yeah… I don’t know. I’m fine. Just… distracted I guess."

"Nothing wrong with distracted. As long as you’re ok?"

The spoon was dropping slow drips onto the marble from its hovered position out of the angle of Tobin’s hand.

"Tobin?"

Tobin laughed this time. "Wow. Sorry. Yeah, I’m good, I promise. And last night was incredible — you all put on quite the party! I must just be thinking about the new year, I guess."

She took stock of her surroundings for a moment. Moved to drop the spoon in the sink, then swiped at the scattered drops with the side of her hand. Sucked it off.

Stacy stayed perched against the long counter, watching.

Laughs echoed in from the yard outside. Lindsey she thinks. And Mal?

"Do you think we’ll be back here next year, all of us? Doing New Years again?"

"Well, that depends on a lot of things. Though I certainly wouldn’t mind it."

"What do you think it depends on?"

"Well, time, schedules, certainly. But those are the small things. There’s more important things."

"Like what?"

Stacy laughed like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, honey, it depends on if you want to!"

* * *

**1/3/17  
Basking Ridge, New Jersey  
**

_The landform unfolded into the strong but small body of what was simply a woman._

_A woman who rolled over, twisting, until she could settle long and heavy onto her back, dead eyes rising to meet an anxious seeking green_.

"Hey, pretty girl." Christen tucked a loose lock behind her ear again. It revealed a red indentation from the sheets on her cheek — long angled lines that meant Tobin must have been laying there in that position a while — and her eyebrow was sort of smushed, a few hairs akilter in their generally smooth arcs. 

Tobin looked at her.

"I know it’s only really been a day, but is it ok to say I missed you? I got used to having you around. Spoiled me, I guess," she tried with a safe smile.

Brown eyes tracked her face.

"Also, Perry looks so much like you. Her eyes are a bit different. And the facial structure. But so much family resemblance."

The jaw clenched a bit. Then loosened.

Her eyes stayed watching.

Christen sighed; stroked the hair at Tobin’s temple a bit.

"You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. Not till you’re ready. But I want you to know I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay here and take care of you any way you’ll let me, ok? Any way I can."

Tobin looked at her.

For long moments Christen let her. Just looked back. Breathing.

Then, at some point, Tobin’s hand began to lift. It arced up, moving towards Christen’s face until it paused, a few inches off.

The forward waited.

And slowly, slowly, several long quiet breaths in and out, it came to rest on her cheek.

Not moving, not feeling. But warm and solid and real, even in its hesitation.

Christen let her eyes slip closed — let herself enjoy it. This tiny, but gargantuan offering.

When they opened again, brown eyes were still watching, flickering, brows pulled minutely more proximal in some emotion or thought Christen couldn’t read.

This was her girl. Her quiet, sad, sleep-ruffled, beautiful girl.

Turning without breaking contact, Christen slid her nose into the stolid palm; bumped it in a silent ministration. Then — soft, soft, soft — she lay a close-mouthed kiss against the lines at the center of it, filling it with every bit of tenderness and love she had for this woman who had comforted her so much, encouraged her so much, forgiven her so much.

And when she’d finished kissing, she slid her cheek right back into the still-lofted palm.

And she met Tobin’s eyes.

"OH. Oh, _baby_. Oh, honey, it’s alright."

Within a moment, she'd caught the weeping woman in her arms, wet already seeping into the thin collar of a shirt she’d packed for a much more California temperature.

"It’s alright. Let it out."

Tobin didn’t seem to need the encouragement.

Christen eased herself into an awkward sit, the midfielder still secure in her arms, and then slowly lowered herself backward and sideways, clinging the shuddering body into rest on top of her as she finally slumped against the headboard.

"Let it out."

This was eye-clenched, open-mouthed, shaking-in-feeling crying.

A sound broke the shuddered breathing — a long, painful moan — and Christen felt her own eyes spark and fill at the first noises that fell from Tobin’s lips. Not a word in them but _pain pain pain._

_Grief._

_Grief._

_Grief._

* * *

**Two days before  
1/1/17  
New Year’s Day  
Palos Verdes, California**

"It’s Jeff."

Tobin could feel it, there in her stomach. She had known it. All day she had sensed this was coming. She didn’t know what ' _this'_ was, heralded only by the banner of an as-of-yet unread text message, but she knew it had been crouching low in the dark hollows behind her skull; skulking and … bad.

She swallowed, throat dry.

"What is it?"

Her thumb hovered over her iPhone.

"Baby?"

She pressed it, and the screen lit back to life. There was the notification, right there.

" _You need to come home. It’s mom._ "

Somewhere, distantly, she knew Christen must be confused. Knew that she wasn’t operating as she should be. She could tell it by the way her ears were filled with a windstorm. By the way she no longer had a throat at all - just her heart, dangling heavy off the back of her tongue in the dark cavity of her ribcage, pulsing so hard she wondered if any air was getting through at all. Though maybe that wasn’t important anyway, because her lungs had calcified in the one glance at this gorgon text.

Just stone.

Her body started to hunch, to curl, to fracture as she bent, one claw around the still-bright screen, the other digging into her chest, pulling, pulling because -

" _Breathe,_ Tobin _."_

Christen’s face was hazy; pointillistic in the filter of deep racing thoughts. But she could hear the hint of panic through the still raging gales behind her eardrums.

_"Tobin. Please."_

And just like that, the hurricane burst wide the blocked door of her windpipe and the gust rushed through and she was left panting with the violence of it. But there was no time.

"I have to go."

"Go _where?_ Tobin, what’s happening?"

"I have to go home."

"Now? What happened? What did the text say?"

Hands were grasping at the back of her shirt, the body following her on the path to her suitcase, Tobin’s arms autonomous as they started throwing the contents of a drawer towards its open maw.

"Tobin, tell me!"

"I don’t know. He doesn’t say. Just my mom. I have to go."

Christen’s eyes were large and shadowed in confusion. "Do you want me to come with you? Is it bad? I can —"

"No!" She scrounged under the bed for her other Jordan, or maybe it was Christen’s, but it didn’t matter, she just needed it packed because she needed to _go._ She needed to —

"I can help! I can… I can drive, or make food, or - or - arrangements;" her eyes were still wide, tracing Tobin’s manic path through the room.

"My parents didn’t even" she forced a mountain down her throat, "text me for Christmas. I don’t think me bringing my girlfriend is going to help the situation."

"I can stay at a hotel! I can …" but Tobin was already zipping the suitcase, and Christen knew, she _knew_ this was different but visions of her own frantic packing — frantic _leaving_ — not so many months ago played like a cruel laugh-track behind her eyelids, telling her this was even less than she deserved; this unknowing and fear. Her sternum felt like all the muscles in it had been stretched to tired rubber bands, frayed and close to breaking.

"Tobin… please, let me help. Let me be with you."

The body finally paused, Tobin’s eyes clearing just enough to twist with apology at the apprehension gazing back. 

"I’ll call you when I know something. Just…" she took one swift step forward, pausing for as long as she could take, as long as she could hold the fear at bay, to lay a trembling palm against Christen’s cheek. Finally, she pulled back, passing a thumb over the tensed brow. "Please don’t follow me. They’d never…"

Christen grabbed at her free hand. Kissed it.

"…You matter too, Tobin."

It was whispered. Soft.

Tobin stroked the line of her brow one last time.

"I’ll call you."

Then she was out the door.

* * *

**1/3/17  
Basking Ridge, New Jersey  
**

The only sounds breaking the silence were breathing and the occasional lapping of water at porcelain as Christen smoothed the washcloth down Tobin’s limbs. The liquid movement bent the long lines of her shins, her forearms; rippled them into funhouse distortions at each pass of the cloth underwater.

The woman sighed — maybe not happily, but it was as close as Christen had gotten from her yet — and sank deeper into the hot bath, eyes closed at the gentle ministrations.

Those long lashes on full display.

Christen scanned her face for any discomfort — any awkwardness. If not, maybe she’d let her do her hair next. The humid air was curling the strands at her temple into swirling wisps, little curls dampening wherever they met the gathering wet across Tobin’s brow as heat hung in their little cubicle of tile and curtain, beading up in scattered —

_wait,_

_what?_

"Baby, is that — is that _oil_ on your forehead?"

Christen grasped the woman’s chin, tilted her a bit in the tepid fluorescent of the overhead light.

"Is that —" craned to get the precise angle. "What _shape_ is that? Tobin, is that —"

* * *

**One day before  
1/2/17  
11:24am**

_Unknown number: "Is this Christen?"_

_Christen: "Yes. Who is this??"_

_Unknown number: "Perry Brown. Tobin’s sister. Is she with you?"_

_Christen: "No, she rushed home. Something bad happened. What’s going on?"_

Those three dots were always so _miserable_. Really, she needed to get on the Apple website for the feedback section because _Christ._

They disappeared.   


Christen chewed her nail on the living room couch.

Then picked up again.

_  
Perry: "Can we talk?"_

Christen hit _call_ on the new contact immediately.

"What’s going on? I thought something happened with your family?"

Several sets of eyes peered up.

_Shit. Probably should have waited on that._

There was a rustle on the other end and the sound of a child somewhere in the background.

"She left a message saying Jeff texted about something wrong with mom and she was catching the first flight out. I didn’t get it till a bit ago but now she’s not answering her phone."

Christen tried to project ‘casual’ as she stood and stretched for a moment — then walked away from the scene of her family’s puzzle-making (her mother’s piercing gaze connecting for just a moment before she could glance away).

In the sitting room, she lowered her volume despite the returning hum of conversation in the other room. The cadence of anxiety was harder to manage.

“She’s gotta be there right? She left here last night. There’s no way she’s not there yet."

"Yeah, but —"

Another noise on the other end like Perry was using one hand to — wait, ok yeah, there was a child asking something about mittens and Perry’s voice from a little farther away calling to someone named Tom to come help and —

"Christen, I have _no_ idea what Jeff was talking about. They would have called me first thing. I _live_ here. And I didn’t get any messages or calls at all."

This was… this was strange. And not good. Something about this was very not good. Christen could feel a storm swirling over what were already choppy waters inside of her.

"And now no one else is answering either. Are you _sure_ she didn’t say anything more? Any detai—"

"No. Nothing. Perry—"

"I’m going to go over there. I’ll go see what’s going on." Her voice changed. Prettied itself up like it was about to put on a roast for a Sunday dinner. "I’m sorry to worry you. I’m sure it’s fine."

She didn’t sound like she thought it was fine at all though. She sounded very Stepford and that was very not fine. Very not fine at all.

"Perry—"

Laughs echoed in from the living room.

Christen pressed in right up to the far corner: leaned her head into it to form a little shadowed cave, phone smushed up against her ear.

"I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll call you after. I probably shouldn’t have called at all but I — It’s nothing. It’s probably stupid. A finance question or something. Moving out old stuff."

Christen’s stomach certainly wasn’t settling.

"But you’ll call me if it is?"

There was more shuffling on the line. Kisses and "have funs".

"Yeah, or have her call you. It’s nothing. I’m sure of it."

"Ok…"

The woman on the other end breathed in deeply and let it out in a settling woosh.

"Thanks for putting up with my crazy. I didn’t mean to make you anxious or anything — Tobin only gave me this number in case there was an emergency over the holiday and here I am using it for something silly. I really should have thought this through."

"No, I’m glad you called. Please… please really do keep me updated."

"Yeah, sure. Ok. I will."

"Ok… um… well, nice to sort of meet you I guess."

Perry let out a surprised laugh.

"Shit. Yeah, sorry, this really should have been a lot different."

"It’s ok. You were worried. You care about her."

A hum came through and the sound of keys being fished from a purse.

"I do. And I know you do too. So I’ll… I’ll let you know."

"Thanks. Um, good luck I guess."

Another laugh.

"Yeah, thanks. Probably just making a fool of myself. You’ll laugh at me later."

"Give Tobin my love. And let me know if there’s any way I can help, ok?"

"Will do. Thanks again. Talk to you later, Christen."

"Talk to you later. Bye."

The line clicked.

Christen bit her lip in the little corner of darkness.

She opened an app on her phone.

* * *

**One day before  
1/2/17  
1:52pm**

_Perry: "Can’t call at the moment. But can you come?_

_Perry: "La Guardia is easiest. We’re at Courtyard Marriott. 595 Martinsville Rd, Basking Ridge, NJ 07920."_

_Perry: "I think you should be here."_

_Perry: "If you can. Sorry. I don’t even know if you can."_

_Christen: "I can. I’m already at the airport. Redeye. I’ll land at 4am EST."_

_Christen: "Is she ok? Is your mom?"_

_Perry: "Call when you land. I’ll explain it on your way."_

* * *

**One day before  
1/2/17  
9:30am  
Basking Ridge, New Jersey  
**

"She’s on her way. Said her phone is about to die but she’s taxiing now and already has an uber lined up. I’d guess she’ll be here in… an hour fifteen probably."

"Are you sure we should do this? It seems pretty extreme when we’ve just found out. Shouldn’t we just… talk to her? And why isn’t Perry here?"

"Thanks for the update, Jeff. And she’s got the kids, honey, we didn’t want to bother her."

"Katie, your parents have been discussing this with me for a while now. This isn’t something brash or overbearing. It’s an act of love. And one focused on all of you talking — all getting to share your feelings and concerns. Isn’t that what you want?"

"But she has no idea it’s happening. She thinks it’s an emergency."

"This _is_ an emergency. An emergency of the soul. And I’m so proud of you and your family for your willingness to speak the truth."

Across from him in the circle of chairs, Cindy clasped her husband’s hand and nodded with a dutiful solemnity.

"Thank you, Pastor Allen. For helping us arrange this, and for caring for our daughter. We just want the Lord’s will for her life. And we know it’s not this."

"I am sure she’ll be moved by the clear love in this circle. Now remember. This isn’t a time for anyone to condemn. This is a sin just like any other, and we’re all sinners in this circle."

He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees — the picture of a teacher leaning in for an inspiring speech.

"We know that Tobin knows the name of Jesus and has put her faith in Him. But we also know this lifestyle will keep her from flourishing, and the longer we let her stay here, the more likely it is that one day she will walk away from the Lord completely. This world is not one to look kindly on the ways of His Kingdom and it calls His children away with many a siren song. Our purpose here today is to speak the truth, in love. And it is a _mighty_ work in the spiritual realms! Are you all ready to do battle for Tobin’s soul? Because when she opens that door, our battle is not against flesh and blood but against powers and principalities. Are you willing to stand?"

In varying degrees of enthusiasm, nods bobbled around the room.

His chin jutted in satisfaction.

"God bless His faithful soldiers."

* * *

**1/3/17  
5:22am  
Basking Ridge, New Jersey  
**

The lemon of the hotel lobby lit a halo around Perry’s hair. That paired with the moon and parking lot lights ricocheting against the mounds of dirty ice created an off, sort of liminal world Christen felt scared to break.

Even if it was a world where slush was 60 seconds away from soaking through her AF1s.

_God, how did we get here?_

She took a deep breath.

Wind howled and bit at her ankles.

Welcome to New Jersey.

"Ready."

* * *

**One day before  
1/2/17  
10:52am  
Basking Ridge, New Jersey  
**

Tobin opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carli: I AM AT A LOSS FOR WORDS.  
> Narrator: Despite being at a loss for words, Carli yelled at Sonnet and Horan for the next 12 minutes. 
> 
> \---------------------------
> 
> Hello, reader. I feel like I could do a lot of yelling right now. And probably a lot of crying too. 
> 
> Essentially, I was in the closet: not comfortably per se but it allowed for superficial peace in my environment until I eventually drew up my courage to go find the real stuff. 
> 
> Yeah, didn't go over well. Why does this have to COST so much? 
> 
> Anyway, welcome back to this completely non-autobiographical (but also not too far off) story of a woman who wants to love God and love people and not have those two realities tear her apart.
> 
> Trigger warning:aftermath of religious intervention.


End file.
